


Morning Glory

by edgarallanrose



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Baker Dean Winchester, Beekeeper Castiel (Supernatural), Curtain Fic, Dean/Cas Big Bang Challenge, Domestic, Emotional Constipation, Farmer's Markets, Flashbacks, Frottage, Human Castiel, M/M, Netflix and Chill, Non-Linear Narrative, POV Multiple, Post-Season/Series 12, Slow Burn, Which is a given with this pairing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2017-11-01
Packaged: 2019-01-27 20:59:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 25,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12590400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edgarallanrose/pseuds/edgarallanrose
Summary: Dean can no longer hunt, Cas has gone from Warrior of God to beekeeper, and Sam has left home. Taking place two years after the Season 12 finale, Dean and Cas have to learn what it means to be themselves, and who they are meant to be to each other, without the threat of an impending apocalypse hanging over their heads.





	1. An Old Life and a New Life

**Author's Note:**

> I am so happy to share this years DCBB with you! I had such a great experience creating it and it was truly a labor of love. I mean it. Even evacuating for Hurricane Irma couldn't keep this fic down! A lot credit is due to those who helped me along the way. Some quick acknowledgments...  
> First, my artist, ricketyjukeboxer, who provided not two but FOUR absolutely outstanding pieces, in addition to a beautiful banner. Her work knocked it out of the park, and she's a wonderful person to boot. Check out her art masterpost [here!](http://ricketyjukeboxer.tumblr.com/post/167013214108/art-for-dcbb-2017-morning-glory-by-edgarallanrose)  
> Then countless thanks must go out to my intrepid betas, Carole and darcydelaney. Thank you for your invaluable time and advice (and for fixing all of my commas). Both of them are also participating in DCBB! Carole's (amazing) fic has posted! You can find the masterpost right [here.](http://deancasbigbang.tumblr.com/post/166759515640/title-framed-in-a-strangers-speech-author) Darcydelaney's fic is also now available! Links can be find over [here](http://deancasbigbang.tumblr.com/post/167505805965/title-punchline-author-darcydelaney-artist) so you can check her out next!  
> I would also be remiss without thanking my BFF, Spooky D (even though she can't read this yet because she only started watching Supernatural as I wrote this and is just now finishing season 10, but was still with me every step of the way), and my sister, Lil (who still doesn't watch the show but asks to read my fics anyway and listens to me gripe about writing them).  
> And to YOU, my readers, old and new! Y'all keep me going. Thank you for reading!

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/137863088@N05/38051814092/in/photostream/)

_The golden, fire haze of Jack’s grace returned the air to Castiel’s lungs, warmed his body, and lifted his eyelids. He stared, unseeing, for several seconds and Dean began to panic. Jack had warned that Cas would not come back as he once was. Dean had assumed that meant he would just be low on power, but he had not considered the possibility that he might not fully be Cas._

_Cas blinked, and Dean dared to feel some relief. Cas gazed at Jack’s face, his eyes then roaming to Sam, and finally Dean._

_“Lucifer,” was his first word upon returning from death._

_“Don’t worry about that right now,” Dean said, voice gruff to keep from breaking._

_“I should reopen the portal as soon as possible,” Jack said, almost apologetically. The birdlike way he cocked his head to the side reminded Dean too much of Cas when they first met. Dean didn’t look at Jack when he continued speaking. “Time passes differently there, and I can’t be sure that your mother will –”_

_“Fine,” Dean barked, “but Cas should sit this one out.”_

_“Don’t be ridiculous, Dean,” Cas said, standing up and dusting off his pants, as if he had just taken a minor tumble instead of having been reanimated._

_“Buddy. I dunno if you’re fully aware, but you were just dead five minutes ago,” Dean said, looking at Sam, desperately willing him to be on his side. Sam would not meet his eyes. “What if you’re not fully healed yet?”_

_What he wanted to say was, “What if you don’t have your powers?” or “What if I lose you, right after I’ve just gotten you back?”_

**\--- Two Years Later ---**  
**Nederland, CO**  
**June 6th**

“Cas!” Dean shouted in the direction of the stairs, “Cas, can you grab the phone?”

“I’m…indisposed,” he shouted back. “You’re in the kitchen, why can’t you get it?”

“There’s biscuit dough all over my hands, this stuff is really sticky.”

Dean could hear Cas’ put-upon sigh all the way from the upstairs landing before he heard bare feet running down the stairs, then padding through the kitchen. Cas muttered a few choice Enochian curses while digging around the cellphone bin.

“This is Director Cassidy,” Cas said gruffly into the phone, upon finding the correct one.

Dean finally turned around from the bowl he had been mixing and saw Castiel using his free hand to clutch at the towel around his waist, his hair sticking up every direction. Dean chuckled and Cas glared.

Dean grabbed a spoon from the drawer and began scooping evenly sized lumps of dough onto the baking tray. Cas finished up his conversation (“Like I said, we have jurisdiction, so I’d appreciate it if you let our agents do their job”) as Dean put the tray in the oven. Cas hung up the phone and readjusted his towel.

“What are you stressed about?” Cas asked.

“Why do you think I’m stressed?” Dean tried to make a swipe at Cas with a sticky hand on his way to the sink. Cas dodged him.

“You’re stress baking.”

“No, I am regular baking.”

“There are two trays of cookies already on the counter, you have bread rising in the windowsill, and you just put biscuits in the oven.”

“I’m hungry. Monday is my day off so I can cook for the week.”

Cas raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything else as he left the kitchen to go back upstairs.

Dean sat down at the kitchen table and pulled out his phone. No missed calls and no new texts. He scrolled back to his most recent conversation with Sam, three days earlier. He had just arrived in Washington and said he would check in soon. It hadn’t been Dean’s idea to split up, but it wasn’t Sam’s fault that Dean couldn’t hunt anymore. It was okay, Dean reminded himself, rubbing his left knee. Sam was doing good work, and uniting the American hunters in a way that the British Men of Letters never could. And he had to make sure that they never tried again.

Cas came back down in a t-shirt that used to be Sam’s and jeans that still belonged to Dean.

“You haven’t heard from him, have you?” Dean asked.

“No,” he said. Dean thought that more casual clothes might make Cas relax a bit, slouch every once in a while, but he never did. He still stood as straight as he had when there had been a tie hanging around his neck like a noose.

“He’ll be alright, Dean,” Cas added.

“I know.”

  
\---

_The other universe was hotter than hell, and Dean would know. Like all best laid Winchester plans, things soon went sour. They were ambushed upon arrival. Mary had been giving Lucifer a run for his money – he was weaker than Dean had ever seen – but she didn’t look like she could go another round. Dean was fighting off one of their fucked up versions of demons when he saw Cas go down out of the corner of his eye._

_He doesn’t remember much following that._

_He knows he screamed Cas’ name. Then he screamed because he had gotten distracted and the demon had pinned him belly-down, promptly twisting his leg and dislocating his knee. Then the demon brought down the blunt weapon he was wielding and intentionally, cleanly, broke the bone in two._

_The demon continued to shatter his leg in increasingly painful ways until Sam shot him in the head with the angel blade bullets._

_“Get out!” Mary shouted. “Take your brother and get out!”_

_Dean was about to reply, when he realized she was talking to Sam._

_“Cas,” Dean said, when Sam picked him up, “get Cas, you have to carry him, he’s not moving.”_

_“Dean…”_

_“No, I can make it. Get Cas.”_

_Sam nodded, running towards Cas and picking him up fireman style, and for the last time, they crossed the portal._

\---

“Well, putting in the new fixture will be easy enough,” Dean said, “but I’m going to have to tear down part of this wall with the medicine cabinet in order to do the glass fixture and the retiling that you want for the shower.”

“That’s fine,” his client said, a woman named Janet Schwartzman. She leaned against the doorway of her master bathroom, watching Dean with small, watery eyes. Despite the early hour, she was already nursing a large glass of white wine. “Can you still do it all in one day? In the picture on your website there were two of you. The taller one, where is he?”

“He’s out of town,” Dean said. “But I’ve got another guy I can drag in to help me.”

“Is he as cute as you?” she asked. Her smile was hungry.

Dean laughed and hoped it didn’t come across as hollow as it felt. Dean didn’t get a lot of clients from the neighborhoods in Lafayette, but if this lady could tell the rest of the PTA moms about the handsome handyman who redid her bathroom, then the awkward flirting would be worth it.

The husband came home while they were arranging dates for the project.

“Honey, who’s this?” he asked.

“This is Dean, from Campbell Brothers. He’s coming this weekend to do the bathroom. He’s the guy who did Sheila’s cabinets.”

The husband sized him up. Dean hated dealing with husbands. He knew what he looked like to them: a pretty boy and a con artist who was hitting on his wife when he was out of the house. Over the last several months he had devised two sure ways to combat this. The first way: start talking about cars.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Schwartzman,” he said, shaking his hand. “Was that your Thunderbird in the garage? ’73, right?”

“Yeah,” he said, blinking. “You a classic cars guy?”

“Sure am, I’ve got a ’67 Impala at home. Have to bring the pickup for jobs, though.” Mr. Schwartzman whistled and Mrs. Schwartzman rolled her eyes.

“Does it run?”

“Just like new.”

“That Thunderbird has been collecting dust in our garage for three years now,” Mrs. Schwartzman said, helping herself to another glass of wine.

“Tell you what,” Dean said, “when I’m done with the bathroom I could take a look at it for you. No charge, then I can let you know what it needs and you can decide where to go from there.”

“That would be great, thank you,” he said.

“No problem,” Dean said with a wink. That was the second way: make him uncomfortable. Mr. Schwartzman’s face colored. Worked every time.

Dean left the house with a check for the materials.

\---

_“I know we’ve been putting this conversation off since the Brits but…we’re going to have to move,” Sam said. “You know that, right?”_

_Dean looked at Sam from his place in the passenger seat. He was bleary-eyed and nauseous. He clutched at his left leg, set in a makeshift splint. Cas was passed out in the backseat. They didn’t know how badly he was hurt yet. If he was still even breathing._

_“Yeah,” Dean panted, “I know. I have a feeling after this we’re going to need to lay low for a long time.”_

_“Not right away,” Sam added. “We’ll make sure you’re both healed up, ready to go.”_

_“Sooner the better,” Dean said. The road swam in front of his eyes. “The bunker isn’t safe anymore.”_

\---

Dean pulled up onto the gravel driveway on the side of their converted Colorado ranch house. It had been the only thing they could afford when they bought it almost two years ago. It had been falling into disrepair and sold by a young man who inherited the property, and was willing to let them pay under the table just to get it off his hands. It was in the middle of nowhere, lots of land, and a barn that Dean had turned into a garage for Baby. It was perfect, despite now being too big for just him and Cas.

Hunters would stay and crash in Sam’s old room sometimes, if they were passing through or working in the area. It didn’t happen often, and Dean preferred it that way. Hunters that stayed usually had a lot of questions that he never felt like answering.

Dean stepped out of his truck, stretching his leg, knee popping. He walked around the back of the house and found Cas in his apiary. Dean had built it for him, but refused to have any involvement beyond that.

“Hey, you have lunch yet?”

Cas looked up at him, expression concealed behind the veil on his hat. His hand moved to his stomach like he’d just remembered he had one.

“No,” he said, “I forgot.”

“I’ll have sandwiches in ten.”

Dean watched from the kitchen window as Cas carefully removed and then returned several frames to the hive. Something pulled at Dean’s chest. He wondered, not for the first time, how this had become his life. Quiet. Normal. Painfully domestic.

He didn’t know how long he spent staring, but the turkey sandwiches were still not done by the time Cas came inside, his protective gear left on the back porch. Dean finished the sandwiches while Cas washed his hands and face. His knee popped again as he sat down to eat at the table.

“You’re limping more,” Cas said when he joined him. “You should be using your cane.”

“No,” Dean said, mouth around his sandwich.

They were quiet for several minutes. Cas used the pad of his thumb to wipe away some stray mustard from the corner of his mouth. Dean got that feeling in his chest again.

“How’re the hives?” he asked.

“Good,” Cas said. “I should be able to start harvesting tomorrow. Then I’ll have some jars to sell at the farmer’s market in Boulder this weekend.”

“Good, good,” Dean said. “Think I could steal you for part of Saturday? I need a hand with the Schwartzmans’ bathroom.”

“Of course, Dean,” he said, observing Dean with that serious gaze that hadn’t become any less intense over the years. “Anything I can do to help.”

\---

_Dean was not drunk enough to be getting this sentimental._

_Instead of cleaning and packing up his room – like he had planned – he was sitting on the center of his bed, leg in a cast stretched out next to him, with a pile of stuff that he was slowly sorting through. An open bottle of Jim Beam was on the dresser next to him._

_“Cas!” Dean called out. “Cas, come look!”_

_After a few moments Cas appeared in the doorway, still in his trench coat despite only wearing jeans and a flannel underneath. He kept insisting he was cold._

_“Yes?”_

_“I found an old picture of you.”_

_“Of me? Or…”_

_“No, it’s definitely you, not Jimmy.” Dean slid the photo across the bed. “Take a gander at that.”_

_The photo’s corners had started to wear away, but it was mostly intact from spending the last few years in the trunk of the Impala. They were at Bobby’s house in Sioux Falls, circa the first impending apocalypse. The picture was of a completely hammered Dean making an ass out of himself, and sitting in a chair in the background was a disgruntled-looking angel._

_“I had no idea,” Cas said, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth._

_“Yeah, this was back in the good ol’ days, before you learned to use a comb.”_  
_Dean reached over to ruffle Cas’ hair, recreating the effect._

_“Regrettable times.” Cas grimaced, batting Dean’s hand away and smoothing his hair back down._

_“I dunno. I kind of liked it,” Dean muttered, taking the photo to look at it again. He frowned and took a closer look at Cas’ hair in the photo, then looked back at the Cas in front of him._

_“Dean? What is it?”_

_“Your hair,” Dean said, reaching out to touch it again, gently this time, tracing a finger across his hairline._

_“Yes, Dean, we established –”_

_“No, not that, it’s – you’re going gray. You look older. I’d never noticed.”_

_Cas swallowed, self-consciously running a hand over his hair again. “It happens to the best of us.”_

_“Is that normal, though?” Dean asked. “For an angel’s vessel to age?”_

_“I don’t know. There is no precedent. To my understanding, no angel has ever occupied a vessel on Earth for as long as I have.”_

_Dean raised his eyebrows. “Oh.”_

_“If I had been at full power all these years, I may have been able to maintain the physical age of the vessel, but, with things as they were…” he shrugged by way of finishing his sentence. “At any rate, I expect I’ll age normally now, considering.”_

_Dean looked away, unsure of what to say. Cas hesitated a moment before stretching out his hand._

_“May I see that picture again?”_


	2. Honey and Nostalgia

Castiel smiled from behind his table at the farmer’s market. The white banner attached to the top of his tent swung back and forth in the breeze. In looping blue lettering, it read _Heaven on Earth Honey._ (“You don’t think it’s too on the nose?” Cas had asked when he first painted the banner. “No,” Dean had said. “It suits you.”) Even with the tent over him, his shirt was damp with sweat and clinging uncomfortably to his back. He had not understood Dean’s suggestion for the tent at first. Human inconveniences like sweating, basic hygiene, and eating were still a daily struggle. However, he preferred this human life now. Dean still didn’t understand, but Cas had stopped trying to explain, and Dean had stopped suggesting ways they could return his grace.

 He had regular customers for his honey now. Claire had even helped him set up an e-mail subscription list, where he updated people on the all the varieties that would be available every week. This weekend he had clover and honeysuckle.

 He was still shocked and appalled at the amount of money people were willing to pay for local honey, both raw and regular varieties, and his prices were much lower than other providers.

 “Do you bake?”

 Cas turned around. The young woman running the table next to him smiled back. Her table was filled with potted plants, flowers, and herbs. Her dark curls were barely contained by the bandana tied around her head.

 “No, I don’t,” Castiel replied. “Why do you ask?”

 “Well, your honey is so cheap,” she said. “If you wanted to make a little extra and not feel bad for charging more, you could make baked goods with your own honey.” She had a tongue piercing that flashed in her mouth when she talked. She stood up, extending a hand. “I’m Phoenix, by the way.”

 Had he spoken aloud his concerns about the price of his honey? He had been known to talk to himself before. Without the ability to project his thoughts through angel radio, he sometimes had a hard time distinguishing what was said in his head and what was spoken aloud.

 “Castiel,” he said, reaching across his table to shake it.

 “You must’ve had hippy parents, too, huh?”

 “Something like that.” He tapped his fingers thoughtfully on the jars in front of him. “Well, I don’t bake, but my friend does.”

 “There you go, you could ask her,” she said.

 “He, um, he’s very busy, I’d hate to ask anything of him.”

 “Don’t ask him, then.” Phoenix shrugged, unbothered by the pronoun change. “If you mention it I bet he’d go for it. That’s how I ended up here every weekend, and I love it.”

 “What do you mean?”

 “This is my wife’s business,” she said with a fond smile. “But she had a lot of demand, so I run the table here in Boulder and she goes to the one in Denver.”

 Cas considered this.

 “There’s no harm in just mentioning it, I suppose,” Cas said.

 ---

  _When Cas returned to the library, Sam didn’t look up from the books he was sorting on the table._

  _“Hey, what did Dean want?” he asked._

  _“He found this,” Cas said, handing him the slightly crumpled photo._

  _“Was he actually packing? Or did he just say that to get out of – hey! I remember this, I took it,” Sam laughed, looking down at the picture. “And, oh man, is that you in the back?”_

  _“Yes, that was why he wanted to show me.” Cas sat in the chair across from Sam. “I can hardly believe how long ago that seems now.”_

  _“Yeah. Wow. What a couple of dumb kids we were then. Good to know not much has changed.”_

  _“I’ve never thought that about the two of you. Misguided at times, but never dumb.”_

  _“Well, you never thought that about Dean, anyway,” Sam huffed out another laugh. “But if I recall, it took you a little while to warm up to me. I was the screw up, remember?”_

  _“Sam –” Cas began._

  _“Oh, it’s okay. I’m not, ya know, offended or anything –”_

  _Cas held up his hand to silence him, and Sam let his voice die out._

  _“When we met, Sam, I held several prejudices against you. None of them fair. I think it took me a longer time than I’d care to admit to let go of them.”_

  _Cas paused, but Sam didn’t comment._

  _“Dean was always my mission, my focus. You were Heaven’s side note, the inevitable conclusion for which we had to prepare Dean. You were not a person, just a part of the problem.”_

  _“The boy with the demon blood,” Sam recalled._

  _Cas nodded. The whole thing still left a bad taste in his mouth._

  _“I am sorry about that, Sam. And I know this apology is several years late, but it has occurred to me over the years that I should have reached out to both of you. You in particular were so lost and, to be truthful, more devout. You begged for answers while Dean rejected all truths but his own.”_

  _“I mean, Dean still does that,” Sam smirked._

  _Cas shared his smile. “I suppose so.”_

  _“Dean was scared shitless of you, you know,” Sam said. “When you guys first met.”_

  _“Really?”_

  _“It’s all I heard about for weeks. You were the invincible guy in the trench coat, with heavenly powers, who’d smite you soon as look at you.”_

  _“Yet here I am now,” Cas said._

  _“Yeah, well, you’ve gotten soft.”_

  _“I’m glad I did.”_

  _“Me too.”_

 ---

 Cas and Dean sat down for a dinner of leftover chicken pot pie. The Schwartzmans’ bathroom had taken a bit longer than expected, but it was done and Dean had plans to go back next weekend to look at the husband’s car.

 Cas went to the fridge to grab a beer for himself and Dean. He was concocting the best way to bring up the conversation he had with Phoenix at the farmer’s market, when Dean’s phone vibrated.

 “Is it Sam?” Cas asked.

 “No,” Dean frowned. “It’s Kayla, said to expect a Fish and Wildlife call in a minute.”

 “Kayla?”

 “You remember, Taryn and Kayla? Taryn’s really short and Kayla’s really hot?”

 “Right, yes, I remember.” Cas set the beer down and twisted the cap off. Dean hummed a thanks.

 “Hey, they’re rolling through Denver,” Dean said, reading another text that came through. “Asked if we wanted to meet up and grab a drink tonight. You up for it?”

 “Sure, that sounds nice.” It did not sound that nice. Cas was tired and dirty and he didn’t know these people very well. But he couldn’t remember the last time he or Dean spent time with someone besides each other. He didn’t want Dean to resent him. They could talk later.

 “Cool,” Dean said, texting Kayla back.

 ---

 They met up with Taryn and Kayla around eleven. Cas could tell Dean’s leg was bothering him, but he didn’t bring it up. He wasn’t about to pick a fight when Dean seemed to be in a better mood than he had been in weeks. Cas’ stomach churned when he realized it probably had something to do with how close he was sitting to Kayla. He couldn’t blame him. Kayla was tall and fit with silky brown hair that brushed her shoulders and neck. She laughed at all of Dean’s jokes, even the ones that weren’t funny. The laughing got louder the more they both drank.

 When she got up to get more drinks from the bar, Dean went with her. Cas and Taryn watched as Kayla leaned into Dean’s side and he slid an arm around her waist, his hand creeping up the back of her shirt.

 “Where's Sam?” Taryn asked. “Dean avoided the question earlier and I ain’t seen him around.” Her southern twang turned _around_ into three syllables. _Uh-row-und._

 “Washington, last we heard.”

 “Still tryin’ to build the network, huh?”

 “Yes. He’s had success in the places he’s been. It’s just a slow process.”

 “Well,” Taryn said, tossing back the rest of her whiskey, “guess that leaves us here to witness this shit show.”

 “They do seem to be...getting along,” Cas said, peeling the label off of his beer bottle with his thumbnail to keep from staring at Dean.

 “I wish she wouldn't do this all the time.”

 “Do what?”

 “Hook up with every guy who'll look at her twice,” she said, crossing her arms. She looked like she might cry. “It's her self-esteem, ya know? No offense, Dean seems like a nice guy and all, but she deserves something more, like, someone who actually cares about her and knows what she likes and don't like, who'll always be by her side and –”

 “You love her,” Cas said. Another stray thought he didn’t mean to say aloud.

 “That obvious?” she sighed.

 “Not necessarily,” Cas said with a shrug.

 Taryn looked at him from the corner of her eye. “Then you just recognize the feeling?”

 Cas balled up the little bits of paper from his shredded beer label that now littered the table. “Do you think she knows that you feel that way about her?” he asked by way of replying.

 “I mean, she knows I like girls. I don't think she knows...or if she does, she doesn't care. What about you?”

 “I would die for Dean. I have, in fact, more than once,” Cas said. “And I’d do it again without hesitation. He knows that. He and Sam, they’re all I have.”

 “I get it, yeah,” Taryn said with a nod.  

 “I don’t think that Kayla doesn’t care,” Cas said softly.

 They sat in silence for a few moments. It looked like Dean and Kayla had forgotten entirely about the drinks. They were kissing now, laughing at something Kayla had whispered into his ear. Kayla started leading him towards the bathrooms.

 “You know what I think?” Taryn said.

 “What?”

 “That at the end of the day we're both probably just a couple of cowards.”

 Cas watched as Dean leaned in to kiss Kayla one last time before they disappeared into the bathroom. His hand pushed her hair out of her face, the other hand gently cupped her jaw. Cas subconsciously reached up and touched the same spot on his own jaw.

 “You're probably right,” he said.

 ---

  _Cas tried to help Sam box up the books from the library, but his eyes kept drifting back to the photo on the table._

  _He didn’t remember being aware of his picture being taken, but he could recall the exact moment in the shot._

  _Dean had been drunkenly spouting off the Samuel L. Jackson monologue from_ Pulp Fiction _, while Sam bemoaned that they didn’t have a video camera to properly capture the moment. Bobby had told him to shut his yap and threw an old film camera his way. Castiel had watched the whole exchange, but mostly he had been deep in thought._

  _All he could see when he looked at Dean was this man, this beautiful, battered, human man, who was up against impossible odds. Who would have to make terrible choices, and suffer incredible pain._

  _Even then, he had known he would let the world burn if it meant that Dean was safe. That he alone could save Dean. He had vowed that night he always would._

  _The memory caught Cas off guard. He tucked the photo into the lining of his coat, then immediately reached back inside, pulling it out to look one more time. He ran a thumb over his own face - or what he had come to think of as his face - and then traced the outline of Dean’s._

  _Sam politely didn’t comment._

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/137863088@N05/38051814732/in/photostream/)


	3. Hangovers and the Family Business

It had been a long time since Dean had found himself pressed against another body in a locked single stall bathroom. Kayla clutched at his shoulders and Dean’s leg buckled. He saved face by staggering back against the wall to regain stability. Kayla laughed, following his lead and leaning into him.

 “God, you’re so hot,” he said against her mouth, running his hands up the front of her shirt and cupping her breasts.

 “I bet you say that to all the girls,” she whispered, giggling and fumbling with his belt.

 “I mean it, you’re beautiful.”

 Dean did mean it. He hoped that saying it out loud would convince his only half-hard dick to mean it, too.

Kayla wasn’t deterred, or possibly too drunk to really notice, and closed her hand around him while sinking to her knees. It was getting much easier with her face out of view. Dean closed his eyes, the back of his head hitting the wall. He clutched the sink next to him to keep from collapsing. His knee was starting to throb.

 “Feel good?” she mumbled from below.

 “Fuck, Cas, feels amazing.”

 She stopped. Dean’s eyes opened at the sudden loss of contact.

 “You okay?”

 She was sitting on the floor, readjusting her top and biting her lip to keep from crying. Dean’s blood froze in his veins.

 “ _Kayla._ Shit, Kayla, I’m so –”

 “Shut the fuck up,” she said, hiccupping a sob.

 Dean grimaced, tucking his flagging erection back into his pants and sliding down the wall to sit across from her on the floor.

 “I should’ve known,” she laughed bitterly.

 “If it makes you feel any better,” Dean said, looking anywhere but at the tears streaming freely down her face, “even I don’t really know.”

 “That does not make me feel better.”

 “I’m sorry. You – you don’t deserve this.”

 “You’re damn right I don’t,” she sniffed. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

 “Listen, there’s nothing wrong –”

 “I thought I told you to shut up?” she said, glaring.

 Dean sighed. “Maybe I should go.”

 “Yeah. Maybe you should.”

 Dean tried to put weight on his left leg, but the pain was so intense he got dizzy. At least if he was going to puke, he was near a toilet.

 “Um. Can you help me up?”

 “Are you fucking kidding me!” she screamed, starting to cry again.

 “Okay, okay, I’ll figure it out.”

 ---

 Dean limped back to their table. Taryn noticed him first, rolling her eyes. Cas kept his focus down on the table.

 “Cas,” Dean said, “time to go.”

 “Where’s Kayla?” Taryn asked.

 “She’s, uh…you might wanna check up on her, she’s still in the bathroom.”

 “The fuck did you do?”

 Dean looked at his shoes, chewing the side of his cheek. There was no excuse he could offer.

 “Asshole,” she muttered, bolting from the table toward the bathrooms.

 “Dean?” Cas asked, his head tilted and brow furrowed with concern. Dean’s eyes stung.

 “Time to go,” Dean repeated. “You’re driving.”

 Cas nodded as Dean handed him the keys. He didn’t even complain when Cas put an arm around him for support as he stumbled all the way to the Impala.

 ---

 Dean’s phone blared, the guitar riff ringtone rattling in his skull.

 “Sonuvabitch,” he muttered, head pounding, and looked around for the source of the noise. He was back home in his room, tucked into bed with no memory of how he got there. It was still dark outside his window. He looked over the edge of the bed and saw his discarded jeans lying on the floor, phone lit up in his pocket. He grabbed it, answering right before the call was about to time out.

 “Hello?”

 “Dean? Did I wake you up?”

 “Sam?” Dean sank back into his pillows, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. “Jeez, man, where have you been?”

 “I’m sorry,” he said. It sounded like he was calling from outside; Dean could hear the rush of wind and traffic in the background. “Hellhound ate my phone.”

 Dean couldn’t help but laugh, his relief at hearing Sam’s voice lifting a thousand pound weight off his chest.

 “A likely story.”

 “I swear, it’s true,” Sam said, laughing with him. “I was not prepared for the demon activity going on around here. I got lucky with the caliber of hunters in this area, but ever since Crowley…it feels like we time-travelled back like, ten years. It’s out of control.”

 “You okay?”

 “Yeah, good now. I made it to Oregon. I guess I just never realized how much Crowley had actually been doing keeping those demons in line for all that time.”

 Dean was quiet. He could hear a loud exhale on the other end of the line.

 “Are you smoking?” Dean accused.

 “Yeah.”

 “That shit’ll kill you, bitch.”

 “I’m in Oregon, jerk, it’s not a cigarette.”

 Dean laughed out loud and Sam joined in.

 “Save some for me and Cas when you make your way back to us.”

 “Sure, Dean.”

 “God, it’s good to hear from you. Don’t pull that shit on me again.”

 “Mhmm,” Sam said. Another loud exhale. “How’s Cas?”

 “He’s fine,” Dean said. His headache throbbed again, reminding him of his earlier evening. He groaned, rolling his head to the side and for the first time noticing that Cas had left a bottle of ibuprofen and a water bottle on his nightstand. He debated not taking them for a moment. He didn’t exactly deserve it.

 “You okay?”

 “Yeah,” Dean grunted, reaching for the bottle anyway. He wasn’t that much of a masochist. “I’ve got the hangover from hell.”

 Sam chuckled. “Well, I’ll let you go back to sleep then. Just wanted to let you know I was alive.”

 “Much appreciated,” Dean said, eyes already drooping shut.

 “I’m gonna get a new phone tomorrow. I’ll text you from it so you have the new number.”

 “What phone are you on right now?”

 “Another hunter’s,” he said vaguely.

 “A cute hunter?”

 “Goodnight, Dean.”

 ---

  _“I still don’t like this, Sammy,” Dean said. He sat in the rocking chair on the front porch as sheets of freezing rain poured around them. The cast on his leg had been removed months ago, and while he could make his away around and work carpentry projects in town with Sam, he still sometimes had to walk with a cane. The rain always made it worse. He hadn’t even been able to help Sam pack up the car. Dean had never felt so useless in his entire life._

  _“All due respect, Dean, I don’t care,” Sam said, and Dean scoffed. “This is something that needs to be done. Should’ve been done years ago.”_

  _“I know.”_

  _“We’ve been here a whole year and things have only gotten worse out there. Someone needs to step up, and I think it should be me.”_

  _“I know,” Dean said, more resigned. “I guess retiring has never worked that well for us in the past, huh?”_

  _“You could say that,” Sam said, damp hair falling in his face as he huffed out a laugh._

  _“And I would just hold you back,” Dean said, trying not to sound too bitter as he readjusted his leg._

  _“It’s not about that,” Sam said, his eyebrows knitting together into that kicked puppy look that he had exploited since he was six years old. “You know it’s not, Dean.”_

  _“Alright.” Dean pursed his lips. “You know I asked Cas to go with you?”_

  _“Yeah,” Sam said, shoving his hands in his pockets and scuffing the floor with his boot. “You idiot.”_

  _“He wouldn’t tell me why he won’t go.”_

  _“He told me.” He looked hard at Dean before shaking his head, then pushing the hair away from his face. “Promise me you’ll look after each other, alright?”_

  _Neither of them spoke for a moment. Dean looked over at Sam’s new car idling in the driveway, headlights piercing through the downpour._

  _“Mom chose to go back to heaven,” Sam said, his voice so quiet it was almost hard to hear above the rain clattering on the tin roof over the porch, “so we could stay. I owe her this much, to finish what she tried to start. The right way this time.”_

  _“She’d be proud of you, Sam.” Dean looked away from the car and back at his brother’s face. He saw the man staring back at him and smiled. “Hell, I know I am.”_

 ---

 Dean ambled down into the kitchen. His leg was a little stiff, but it was nowhere near the amount of pain he had been in the night before. Cas glanced up from his newspaper and mug of coffee.

 “I would say good morning, but…” he said, nodding at the clock on their stove that read 12:28.

 “Yeah, yeah,” Dean muttered, going over to the coffee pot only to find it empty. “Did you really have an entire pot to yourself?”

 Cas shrugged.

 “I didn’t know when you’d wake up,” he said. “How are you feeling?”

 “Fine.” Dean rummaged around the cabinets for the coffee filters.

 “What happened last night with—”

 “Nothing, Cas.” Dean gripped the edge of the counter when he said his name, his stomach churning. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

 “Well, which is it?” Cas asked, folding his newspaper and narrowing his eyes. “Nothing or you don’t want to talk about it?”

 “Both,” Dean snapped.

 Cas nodded and reopened his newspaper. Dean finally found the coffee filters and spooned the grounds in. He lost count of how many scoops he had done and sighed in frustration, slamming the top down and starting the machine anyway.

 “I’ve been meaning to tell you something,” Cas said lightly. Dean looked at him warily. “I received a suggestion from a young lady at the farmer’s market. For my booth.”

 “Oh.” Dean relaxed. “What’d she say?”

 “She mentioned I could make a little extra money if I used my honey in some homemade baked goods. As you know, food and cooking are still a mystery to me, but you seem to be enjoying baking a lot lately. You don’t have to, but it was just a thought.” Cas seemed nervous, twisting the corners of the newspaper.

 “That ain’t a bad idea,” Dean said. “But, ya know, the honey would really be the only local, organic ingredient. I can’t afford to make pies out of that Whole Foods crap.”

 “They don’t need to know that,” Cas said with a lopsided grin. “They’re homemade. Artisan.”

 “Artisan,” Dean chuckled. “Alright, why not? If I make some stuff tomorrow you can bring them to the Tuesday morning market and see how it does, before showing the weekend crowd.”

 “Thank you, Dean.”

 “Don’t thank me yet,” Dean said, pouring his coffee. “They might suck for all I know. And I’ll have to research some recipes so I can use your honey.”

 “Everything you make is delicious. I may not have a wide frame of reference, but I do have taste buds.”

 “Says the guy who used to binge White Castle,” Dean said, despite the blush he knew was creeping up his neck.  “So, this farmer’s market girl. She hot?”

 “I suppose,” Cas said, chewing his lip, like he was putting serious thought into the question. Dean smiled into his coffee. “But she wasn’t really my type –”

 “—you have a type?”

 “— And I don’t think I’m hers, either.”

 “Aw, c’mon, why would you say that?”

 “Well for one thing, she’s married,” Cas said, “to a woman.”

 Dean laughed so hard his cheeks hurt. Cas laughed with him.


	4. Psychic Communication and Actual Communication

“Stop fiddling with it, Dean.”

 “I’m not fiddling, I’m just—”

 “You’re fiddling. It looks great.”

 Dean stepped back from the ceramic plates on which he had arranged slices of baklava and honey ricotta cheesecake. The plates were the nicest ones they had in the house, but Dean didn’t seem satisfied with them.

 “I just feel like I need to do something,” he said, glaring at the baked goods.

 “I told you I could handle it by myself,” Cas said, amused.

 “Yeah, but _I’m_ the baker,” Dean said, gesturing to himself. “What if someone has a question about them? Or a request or a critique? I need feedback.” Dean sighed, relaxing a bit and laughing at himself. “And besides, I wanted to come.”

Cas tried and failed to hide his grin.

“Well, if you want something to do, you can go walk around in front of the table with the samples.”

Dean nodded, a determined furrow in his brow, and picked up the plates, turned around to wink at Cas, then walked out in the direction of a woman pushing a stroller.

Cas watched Dean charm people all afternoon, both with his desserts and his smile. It was hard not to be charmed himself. Dean earnestly jotted down notes when one of Cas’ clients gave him a suggestion for a topping for the cheesecake. He took the opinions of all the children seriously.  They sold out of everything an hour before the end of the farmer’s market.

“I would call that a success,” Cas said, as Dean helped him break down the table and tent.

“I’m thinking we should get some real dessert stands to put these on for Saturday,” Dean said. “You know, like the nice ones they put pies on in diners? With the glass cover on them?”

 “I think that’s a good idea,” Cas said. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Dean this enthusiastic about anything. “I was surprised you didn’t make a pie yourself, given your penchant for it.”

 “This was a test run,” Dean explained, “I was giving myself some room for error. No, when I make a pie…this pie is gonna have to be perfect.”

 ---

Cas found glass dessert stands for Dean at a Home Goods in town, and stayed up late Friday night to help him bake several cheesecakes and baklava for the following morning. Cas did not have any intuition whatsoever regarding the baking process, but he was good at following directions. Dean put on a Creedence Clearwater Revival album, and they worked silently in each other’s space well into the night.

Around two in the morning they both ended up sitting on the floor, beers in hand, leaning against the counter across from the oven and watching the last batch of baklava bake.

“I won’t be able to help you set up in the morning,” Dean said, voice rough and tired. “I promised that suburban bastard I’d look at his car.”

“I remember.” They both tipped their beers back in sync, taking long pulls from the bottles.

“I’ll be there as soon as I can, though,” Dean said. “Make sure you display it the way I showed you.”

“I will.”

 “And tell them I used your clover honey.”

 “Dean, I will,” Cas said, rolling his eyes fondly. Dean caught the look.

 “I know, I’m sorry, it’s technically your booth.”

“It can be ours,” Cas said before he could stop himself. Would he ever learn to bite his tongue? “If you want.”

 “Well,” Dean said, “let’s see if that’s still what you want after this weekend, huh? Could be a total bust.”

“It won’t be.”

\---

The following morning, Cas arranged his honey jars and the glass dessert trays, just like Dean had requested. He had to admit it made a pretty picture, aesthetically speaking. But there was also something about knowing that the table before him was a true representation of him and Dean. Something they created together.

“You gonna stare at your table all day or are you going to offer me some of those samples?”

“Phoenix,” Cas said, turning around to find her hovering over his shoulder. “Please, help yourself. It was your idea, after all.”

“Don’t mind if I do,” she said, taking one of each.

Cas crossed around to the back of his table while Phoenix made inappropriate sounds around the mouthful of cheesecake.

“Holy bananas,” she said.

“No, I don’t believe there are any bananas in it.”

“Cas,” she went on, “this is incredible. And what’s so great is I can still taste the flavor of your honey in it; it's not overpowered at all."

 “Dean will be very happy to hear that.”

“Your friend?” she said, popping another piece in her mouth. “Jesus, I’m gonna gain another ten pounds sitting next to your booth.”

“Yes, my friend. He’ll be here later if you’d like to talk to him. I know he’s looking for feedback.”

“I might just kiss him,” she said, moving on to her third sample piece.

“I don’t know how your wife would feel about that,” Cas said, and Phoenix chuckled. “Speaking of, would you just like a slice or two of the cheesecake to take home with you? I will eventually need to hand out those samples to other customers.”

“True, sorry,” she said with a sheepish smile. “Yeah, can you wrap up two? I’d love for Jana to try it, but we’ll see if it even makes it that long.”

Cas laughed, grabbing a cardboard to-go container and slicing two pieces for her.

“How much?” she asked, reaching for a wad of cash from the fanny pack around her hips.

“These are a gift. For your help.”

“Oh, come on, Cas –”

 “I insist.”

 “Well,” she said, taking the box and holding it gently, as if it contained something priceless and delicate, “thank you very much. Will you at least take a plant from my table?”

 “That’s not necessary,” Cas said, shaking his head.

 “I know,” she grinned. “I also insist.”

“I’ll let Dean pick when he gets here,” Cas said. “Since it is the fruit of his labor. That would be fair.”

 “Whatever, Castiel,” she said with a knowing smirk, before heading back to her table. The early morning crowd was starting to arrive.

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/137863088@N05/38082941651/in/photostream/)

 

\---

  _The first week without Sam was hard on Dean, and equally hard on Cas, since he wasn’t sure how to handle him. Cas only knew how to make toast and cold sandwiches, but he made them for Dean as often as he would let him. He set out his pain medication with his meals, and sometimes Dean even took it. When Cas noticed several empty bottles of whiskey, he went out and bought more._

  _“Why do you keep buying me this shit?” Dean asked one night, pulling out a new bottle. “I know you hate how much I’m drinking.”_

  _“You’re coping,” Cas said._  

_“Yeah, I’m always fucking coping.”_  

_“Then tell me how to help you, Dean.”_  

_It was not a rhetorical question, but Dean seemed to take it as such, since his only reply was to scoff and open the bottle. He poured himself a glass, not offering one to Cas, and drank it in three swallows. He was about to pour another but stopped himself short. He might have been crying._  

_Dean limped over to the sink, his good leg heavily compensating for the bad one, and poured the remainder of the bottle into the sink._  

\---

 “Hey, buddy,” Dean said, approaching the table. “How was the morning rush?” 

“It went very well,” Cas said. “We’re already two cheesecakes and a sheet of baklava down. And almost all of them bought honey along with it.” 

Dean let out a low whistle. Phoenix poked her head out from behind a potted fern and snaked around the side of her table. 

“Excuse me, are you Dean?” 

“Dean, this is Phoenix,” Cas said. “The whole thing was her idea.” 

“Hey, Phoenix, nice to finally meet you,” Dean said with a smile, extending his hand. 

“Nice to meet you as well, Dean…” She paused as her hand met his, her eyes glassing over for a moment before she added, “Winchester?” 

Dean looked over at Cas with a frown. Cas had not told her Dean’s real last name. 

“Yes?” Dean said.

“You’re in the life?” Phoenix asked, lowering her voice. 

“Do I know you?” 

“No, I’m so sorry,” she said, backtracking, “it’s just, my parents were, too. Mom was a psychic, and so am I. I know it freaks some people out, even hunters.” 

“No, it’s all good. I’ve met my fair share of psychics; all good people, for the most part.” 

“Right,” she said, relaxing into a smile. “Like your brother.” 

“Well,” Dean stammered, “he’s not anymore.” 

She hummed and shrugged. 

“Wait a moment,” Cas said, “I don’t understand. Why are you only mentioning this now? You see me every weekend and you never said a word.” 

“Cas, my dear, sweet Castiel,” she said, walking over and placing a hand on his arm. Her skin was unnaturally hot. “For reasons I don’t totally understand, I can barely read you at all. I only catch snippets of things when you’re thinking extra loud. Otherwise all I get from you is –” 

“Colors,” Cas finished. 

“Exactly,” she said. An older man was standing in front of her plants, clearly looking for assistance. Phoenix excused herself and returned to the table. 

“Man, how do we find these people?” Dean said. “You think you’re out and suddenly you’re right back in.” 

“There may have been one or two instances where we’ve gravely upset a higher power,” Cas suggested. 

“Yeah. That must be it.” 

\---

C _as came home late, fully expecting Dean to already be asleep, or at least upstairs. He closed the front door as quietly as he could, cringing when he heard –_  

_“Where were you?”_  

_Cas spun around. Dean was lounging on the couch, the TV turned on to some Spanish soap. His leg was propped up on a pillow next to him, and there was a bag of frozen peas on his knee._  

_“Did it pop out of the socket again?” Cas asked._  

_“Yeah, but it’s fine now,” he said, rolling his leg back and forth, “just a little swollen. Don’t avoid the question.”_  

_“I was on a date.”_  

_Dean’s eyebrows shot up his forehead. “Really?”_  

_“No need to sound so surprised,” Cas muttered._  

_“Sorry, sorry. I, um, how’d it go?”_  

_“Not well,” Cas said._  

_His date was clearly still in the closet. He was jumpy all night, fidgety. He was too short; Cas had to stoop down to kiss him. They had tried to hook up in the backseat of his car, but both of them ended up being disappointed. The man’s hands were too soft, his body language too timid. He had brown eyes. Cas’ heart hadn’t been in it, and he wasn’t very good at hiding his emotions lately._  

_“Well, everyone strikes out every now and then,” Dean said. “Even you.”_  

_Cas didn’t know what he meant by that._  

_“Listen, Cas,” Dean said, reaching back to scratch at his neck like he always did when they were about to have a conversation he didn’t particularly want to have, “I just wanted to say that I know you’ve been avoiding me lately –”_  

_“I was just trying to give you some space,” Cas said._  

_“I know, but I don’t want you to feel like you have to walk on eggshells around me. I’m a grown-ass man and I’ve been acting like a real dick, so, I’m sorry.”_  

_Cas sat quietly, staring at but not really watching the program on TV. There was a beautiful woman with heavy eye makeup weeping in front of a mirror. Her hands shook as she picked up a hairbrush and smashed the mirror with it, bright, pointed shards scattering everywhere. She threw herself to the floor and cried._

_“I know Sam leaving has been hard on you,” Cas said._  

_“Cas,” Dean shook his head, “that’s not why I’ve been acting like…look, it definitely didn’t help, okay? But I ain’t worried about Sam. He’s a big boy; he can take care of himself.”_  

_“Oh.” Cas frowned. “Then what is it?”_  

_“I’m fucking useless,” Dean laughed bitterly, “and I can’t go out on my own, or even with backup, ever again.”_  

_“Dean, you’re not—”_  

_“No, I’ve seen hunters who get like this,” he snapped. “They get hurt or they get too old, so they stop and settle down. They try to stay involved or connected for a few years, but then they fall off the grid. They get paranoid and lonely and drink themselves to death.”_  

_“That’s not going to happen to you,” Cas said firmly._  

_“Yeah? How do you know?”_  

_“Because if I can survive being crippled, so can you,” he said, adding softly, “you have to.”_  

_“Cas,” Dean said, though he clearly couldn’t think of anything else to add._  

_“I’m not sure what my place here is anymore,” Cas admitted. “I can’t be your brother, but I’m not your caretaker either. I can’t heal or protect you like I used to. I only take up space.”_  

_“You don’t gotta be any of that,” Dean said, shaking his head. “This is your home. I just want you to be here.”_  

_They were both silent for a minute. The woman on screen had been scooped up into the arms of a handsome man with broad shoulders. It seemed only his passionate kiss could calm her hysteria._  

_“Can you do that for me, Cas?” Dean asked. He sounded tired. “Just be here?”_


	5. Horny Suburbanites and Not Being Able to Catch a Break

Dean helped out for the remainder of the market. They didn’t end up selling all the baklava, so they sent the remainder home with Phoenix. 

“We need to talk more, Dean Winchester,” she said, as Dean helped her carry plants out to her car. 

“Definitely.” 

“You and Cas should come by for dinner this week,” she said. “I’ll talk to the wife and set something up.” 

“Sounds good,” he said. “Your wife, how much does she—” 

“She knows,” Phoenix said with a small smile. She pulled a pot of blue flowers out of the corner of her trunk and handed it to Dean. 

“What’s this for?” he asked. 

“I told Cas you could have something in exchange for your magical cheesecake,” she said. “This is the one you want.” 

“Is it now?” Dean chuckled. “What is it?” 

“Heavenly Blue Morning Glory,” she said. “If you plant it around your front porch it’ll grow like a vine.” 

\---

_Cas frequently took day trips to the library. He brought back comics and science fiction novels for Dean whenever he asked, which wasn’t often. Cas always left stacks of books scattered throughout the house, no matter how many times Dean told him to just take them to his room. He’d already paid one too many late fees from misplacing a book. There never seemed to be a specific subject or genre that Cas stuck to, but Dean started to notice a pattern. He was rescuing books from between the sofa cushions when he found the third book about beekeeping in as many weeks. This one had specific instructions on how to build your own beehive._  

_Dean remembered the conversation he’d had with Cas about a month ago, right after Sam had left, about feeling useless, needing purpose. Cas needed something to occupy himself just as much as Dean did. Dean sighed._  

_“Why is it always bees?” he muttered to himself._  

\---

Dean rang the doorbell to Phoenix and Jana’s little, square house. Cas carried the wine, and Dean held the chocolate tart he had made. 

Phoenix answered the door, her hair slightly more frazzled without a bandana to tie it down. Her food-stained shirt read ‘No Fracking Way!’ 

“You guys are meat-eaters, right?” she asked by way of a greeting. 

“Um, yes?” Dean said. “Unless that’s code for something.” 

“Okay, good. Jana’s vegetarian, and I’m making burgers so I wanted to double check if we needed more veggie patties,” she said, blowing a stray curl away from her mouth. “Oh, sorry, come in! Welcome!” 

She hugged them both as they crossed the threshold, pulling back from Dean when she noticed the dessert. 

“A tart?” 

“I’ve been called worse,” Dean joked, earning him a laugh from Phoenix and an eye roll from Cas. 

“Jan!” Phoenix called, at the same time a small, blonde woman appeared from another room. She reminded Dean so strongly of Jo for a moment that his jaw clenched. “Meet Cas and Dean.” 

“Hey, fellas,” she said, her voice deeper than he was expecting. His jaw relaxed. “I’ve heard so much about you.” 

“Likewise,” Cas said. 

“Here,” Phoenix said, taking the tart from Dean and wine from Cas, “let me put this in the kitchen and then actually finish cooking our dinner.” 

“And I’ll pour the wine,” Jana said, “and meet you on the back patio once I’ve made sure that Phoenix is going to put ingredients somewhere other than her shirt.” 

“Ah, shaddup,” she said, kissing Jana fondly on the nose. “I do it on purpose so you have to take it off me afterwards.” 

“Phoenix. Company. In our home,” Jana said sternly, even though she was blushing to the tips of her ears. 

Phoenix just grinned, pointing Dean and Cas towards the patio as she dragged Jana into the kitchen. 

The patio was small – with only enough room for a grill and a wrought iron table and chairs – but this was mostly due to the fact that every other inch of the yard was covered in plants. 

There was lavender growing by the fence, hyacinth and rose bushes nearby. On the opposite end were chives, basil, and rosemary; there was even a modest vegetable garden. Dean had never been anywhere that was so fresh and full of life. The yard was illuminated only by a string of yellow Christmas lights that dangled like icicles above them, and the light that spilled out from the back door. 

“They’re cute,” Dean remarked when he sat at the table, stretching his leg out. Cas opted to further explore the garden, picking his way through rows of irises. 

“They are,” Cas agreed. “Must be nice to find happiness in another person, to settle down and live together. Share each other’s passions.” 

Dean was about to point out that was kind of what they did, but he stopped himself. It was different from what Cas meant. 

“Is that something you want? Eventually?” 

“I just think it’s nice,” Cas said with a shrug, his back to Dean. 

Figured. Like Cas would ever be able to stay in any one place. Dean was surprised he’d stuck around this long. 

“What about you?” Cas asked. 

Jana joined them on the patio, wine in hand, saving Dean from having to answer. 

“Alright, boys,” she said, setting the glasses down on the table. “Tell me about yourselves.” 

Moments later Phoenix brought cubed watermelon, corn on the cob, and salad for them to start on while she grilled the burgers on the patio. Dean tried to spare them the gory details of their past, but it was nice to talk to new people who understood, and who were just distant enough from the life that they weren’t aware of the Winchesters’ sordid reputation. 

There was a lull in the conversation as the burgers were finally served, everyone too busy chewing to speak. 

“So, here’s what I don’t understand,” Phoenix said, at last joining them at the table. “How did you two meet?” 

“I rescued Dean from Hell,” Cas said, mid-bite. 

Phoenix and Jana blinked. 

“Literally,” Cas added, after he swallowed.

“Are you...not to be rude, but like, what are you?” Phoenix asked. “Why can’t I read you like other people?” 

“I used to be an angel. I don’t have my powers anymore, but I’m not entirely human, either. That is why.” 

Dean winced, despite how easily Cas admitted it. 

“An angel,” Phoenix breathed. “That makes sense.” 

“How does that make sense?” 

“The colors I get from you, every once in a while it’s not a color that I know. You’re used to thinking and seeing on a higher spectrum. Honestly, it’s really fucking trippy,” she said. 

“What color are you getting right now?” Dean asked, partly as a joke, but partly because he was genuinely curious. Cas looked up at Dean and his eyes softened, smiling slightly as he lowered his eyes back down. 

“Green,” Phoenix said, smirking like this meant something. “It’s almost always green.” 

\---

_Dean organized his materials for the beehive out in the barn-turned-garage. Cas never went out there, and Dean had the absurd idea that it should be a surprise. It occurred to him that Cas had never actually verbally expressed a desire to keep bees, so a surprise was potentially not the smartest course of action, but it appeared to be the only one. If Cas hated it he could always sell the thing in town._  

_He found some old wooden slats in what used to be a hay loft. They were still in good shape, so Dean sanded them a bit, then split them in half to use as the top and bottom frames for the base of the hive. He purchased plywood, in addition to some nails, staples, and glue, and followed the instructions from the book Cas had brought home from the library. While he wasn’t familiar with the specific function of each part he was building (brood box? Honey super?) the structure itself was fairly simple._  

_It only took two days to complete. He was able to return the book before Cas had noticed it was missing, and he was proud of the result._  

_It still took him another week to actually show it to him._  

_“Come out to the barn with me,” Dean said._  

_Cas looked up from his book, squinted and cocked his head, but didn’t ask questions. Once in the barn he stood at a distance, crossing his arms._  

_“Here,” Dean said, unceremoniously removing the tarp from the hive. “This is yours. If you want it.”_  

_It only took Cas a moment to realize what it was before grinning and taking quick steps forward to get a better look._  

_“I had been looking online at hives like this,” Cas admitted. “These vertical Langstroth types. I wanted to buy one, but I knew we couldn’t spare the money on something like – did you make this?”_  

_“Yeah,” Dean said. “I’ll leave all the other purchases and actual bees to you but, if you like it, it wasn’t that hard to do. If you need more of them built in the future, or whatever.”_  

_Cas looked at Dean like he hung the moon. Dean looked at the ground, embarrassed._  

_“I’ll have to apply for a license, of course,” Cas said, returning to his thorough inspection of the hive. “It is legal to keep bees on private property in this county, though, I already checked.”_  

_He babbled on for a while after that, listing the things he would need and preparations he had to make. Dean smiled. He couldn’t remember the last time, or if there ever had been a time, that Cas was so excited. He might have to read more of those beekeeping books, though, if he was expected to keep up with Cas on all the bee terminology._  

_“How did you know?” Cas asked, after finally pausing for breath. “I never mentioned it.”_  

_“Just a guess,” Dean shrugged, “it’s not a big deal.”_  

_Cas shook his head. He took a step closer to Dean, like he might give him a hug._  

Or a kiss _, Dean’s traitorous mind chimed in._  

_But Castiel did neither of these things. He clenched his fists awkwardly at his sides and said,_

_“Thank you, Dean.”_  

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/137863088@N05/38082941471/in/photostream/)

\---

Three weeks later Dean was back at the Schwartzmans’. It was his third day of working on Mr. Schwartzman’s car; most of it was in great condition, there were just a couple parts that were too fried to function. The previous owner clearly did not have an interest in driving the car, only owning it for show. 

He told himself he should be enjoying the fact that he had nothing but the company of a sweet car all morning, and there was the added bonus that he was being paid much higher for the repairs than he would have asked, but he kept thinking about Cas running the farmer’s market booth without him. He had sent him off that morning with summer berry tarts and angel food cake with a honey glaze (Dean had gotten a kick out of that, and he thought that Cas was also secretly amused).  Cas had started including Dean’s baked goods in his e-mail updates and each week they got more and more popular. Some people had even sent in requests. Dean’s favorite part was still talking to all the clients at the market, watching them enjoy their food, seeing the look on Cas’ face after a long, successful day. He wanted to be there with him today, but the paycheck for the car repair was too good to pass up. 

It was late afternoon when Dean was doing his final check and Mr. Schwartzman was pulling into the driveway in his hybrid SUV. 

“Hey, Dean,” he called as he stepped out of the car, his daughter following suit, backpack slung over her shoulder and cellphone in hand. “How’s it going?” 

“You tell me,” Dean said, sliding into the driver’s seat and starting the car. The engine turned over beautifully, the Thunderbird coming to life. 

“Alright,” Schwartzman said, clapping his hands, “nicely done.” His daughter stood near him, staring at her phone. “Sweetie, why don’t you head inside and let me finish up with Dean.” 

His daughter shrugged as her only acknowledgement of the suggestion, and continued to text all the way into the house. Dean wondered how she didn’t trip. 

“You let me know if she gives you any trouble,” Dean said, turning the engine off and clambering back out of the car, “but I don’t expect she will as long as you keep up regular maintenance.” 

“Uh huh,” he said. He was looking at Dean oddly, biting his lip. 

“So, you’ve got my number,” Dean said, trying not to be awkward about leaving. 

“Right, actually, I was wondering,” Schwartzman began, “you said you have an Impala, right?” 

“Sure do, she’s my pride and joy.” He heard Sam’s voice somewhere at the back of his head telling him to stop being weird. 

“I’d love to see it sometime.” 

“Oh, she’s not for sale,” Dean said, a little more harshly than he meant. 

“No, no, I just—it’s not about the car, that’s a stupid excuse.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. Dean could see the sweat pooling under his shirt collar. “My wife is out of town this weekend,” he said, lowering his voice, “and I was thinking we could spend some time together? If you get what I mean?” 

Dean blinked. He had _not_ seen that coming. First the wife, and now the husband? What the hell was wrong with these married suburban freaks? 

“I don’t think –” 

“Don’t worry, she wouldn’t know,” he said quickly, stepping closer to Dean. He put a hand on his arm. “And my daughter could stay at a friend’s house and –” 

“Listen, pal, I think you got the wrong idea.” 

“Oh,” Schwartzman said, dropping his hand and raising his eyebrows. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to assume. I just thought –” 

“—No, it’s fine, but I’ve already got a man back home,” Dean said, faltering at the end of the sentence, shocked it had come out of his mouth. Why did he say that? He could’ve just left it at the ‘I’m not gay’ part. There was no need to elaborate or make shit up. 

“Oh,” he said. “I’m sorry. Forget this happened.” 

“It’s forgotten,” Dean said, starting to go numb. 

“Please don’t tell my wife.” 

“Sure, sure,” Dean said. “I’m gonna go.” 

“Yeah, okay,” Schwartzman said. 

“Um, bye,” Dean said, turning and walking out of the garage. 

He made it a few steps before Schwartzman said, “Whoever that guy is at home, he’s damn lucky to have you.” 

Dean stomped to the truck, hearing the garage door close behind him as Mr. Schwartzman went inside. 

“Yeah,” Dean muttered, “damn lucky.” 

\---

_In the three months since Dean gifted Cas the beehive, he had built four more hives. He had also modified the original with something called flow frames, which would allow Cas to remove the honey more easily and with less disturbance for the bees. Apparently. It had taken six weeks for there to be enough honey to harvest. It was the best thing Dean had ever tasted._  

_Cas was really taken with the hobby. Soon they had more jars of honey in the pantry than any two people could possibly need, and Dean had already sent several to Sam, Jody, Donna, and even Garth._  

_Cas had come up with the farmer’s market idea on his own._  

_Dean was proud of him, and told him so. Cas shrugged it off, but he was beaming when he thought Dean wasn’t looking._  

_Sam and Dean had started their carpentry/handyman business shortly after moving to the house, as soon as Dean could stand on his bad leg again. Cas had helped for a time, but truth be told he wasn’t very good at it. He had started handling the financial side of things, licenses and such, and while Dean knew he was happy to help, he needed something of his own._  

_Dean found himself thinking they could really stay there; him and Cas, together in their Colorado ranch house, making a life for themselves. A dangerous thought, to be sure, but it felt less like a fantasy and more like reality every day. He had no frame of reference for how this would work; the closest thing they had was living in the bunker for the last few years. But even then it had still just been a home base, hardly an actual home._

_Maybe they’d really done it this time. The bad times were over. They could just live._  

\--- 

Dean pulled up the gravel driveway, happy to be home. He was still a bit shaken from his conversation with Mr. Schwartzman, but he shoved it to the back of his brain. It didn’t matter, and it didn’t necessarily mean anything, either. Girls did that kind of thing all the time, right? Pretended to have a boyfriend to get a guy off their back? That’s all he was doing. And Schwartzman didn’t need to know it was just small, nerdy Cas that lived here. Or that he wasn’t Dean’s boyfriend. For all he knew Dean’s fake boyfriend was a pro wrestler who could beat the snot out of him. Yeah, someone like Gunner Lawless. The thought made Dean laugh, and also slightly uncomfortable for a reason he couldn’t place. 

It was early evening, but the summer had stretched the days and the sun was still up in the sky. He should start dinner for Cas; the idiot probably forgot lunch again. 

“Hey, Cas,” Dean called when he walked through the front door. No response, but that wasn’t unusual. Dean climbed the stairs, up to Cas’ room. “Cas, what do you want for dinner?” 

Cas’ door was open, but his room was empty. Dean frowned. He hadn’t seen Cas outside, but there weren’t exactly a lot of places he could be. 

“Cas?” 

Dean went back downstairs, into the kitchen to see if maybe he’d left a note. He looked on the table, the counter, the magnets on the fridge. Nothing. 

He considered the possibility of Cas going out with someone, maybe Phoenix. Or on another date, though it had been a while since that last one he had tried to hide. He was leaning against the sink, checking his phone (maybe he’d missed a call or text) when he glanced out the kitchen window. 

He could see the soles of Cas’ sneakers in the grass, near the apiary. Dean squinted. Cas was still attached to them, collapsed face down on the ground. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Dean said, racing outside, phone still in hand. 

It was his worst nightmare revisited. He pushed the other image out of his mind, the one of Cas crumpled and broken, wings burnt into the earth, surely gone for good this time. He realized with a jolt there would be no wings this time to tell him if he was truly dead or not. 

“Cas!” Dean shouted. He nearly tripped over a broomstick that was lying around outside for some reason.

His mind raced. What could have gotten him out here? They were so careful with the warding, on themselves and on the property. Admittedly, the house was still safer than the yard. Had somebody snuck up on him outside their land? In broad daylight? No, Cas wasn’t that stupid. And he may not be an angel anymore, but he could still fight. He could’ve taken whatever it was. 

He kneeled next to Cas and put his hands on his shoulders, shaking him. He reached up to his neck. There was still a pulse, but it was faint and erratic. 

“Cas, c’mon, wake up! What happened?” 

A spell, maybe? A witch? Or another hunter? They had beef with a lot of people; anything was possible. 

He turned Cas over gently, so his head rested in his lap. Then he finally saw them: several angry, red welts on his neck, arms, and face, some with the stinger still in them. 

“Fucking hell, Cas,” Dean said. He didn’t know what to do for this. He didn’t know how long Cas had been out. His breathing was shallow and wheezy. Demons and curses no problem, but _this_? 

“Fuck,” he hissed again, searching the ground where he had dropped his phone. 

For the very first time in Dean’s life, he dialed 911.


	6. Shitty Hospital Food and Sam

Sam stopped at the hospital’s front desk and asked for the room number of Castiel Campbell. He pulled his phone from the front pocket of his backpack when he got on the elevator. Dean hadn’t answered his most recent text, which let him know he was there. He scrolled through their earlier conversation of increasingly panicked messages. The last text from him said that the doctors seemed to think Cas was out of the woods, but he still wouldn’t wake up. 

The elevator dinged when he arrived at the correct floor, and he made his way to the room. For someone who often finds himself in hospitals, to either meet with victims or examine a body, Sam has never been able to glean some sort of common layout of the buildings. Every floor was a labyrinth of endless hallways, accessible only by a specific elevator, and with no visible exits. Hospitals were liminal spaces where time moved differently and the world continued to spin around them. 

They creeped him out. 

The door to Cas’ room was cracked open, but Sam knocked gently anyway before pushing the door further. 

Sam saw immediately why Dean hadn’t replied to him. He was passed out in the chair next to the bed, head lolling onto his shoulder, and hand outstretched to hold onto Cas’. He had probably been up all night. 

Cas himself was reclined on the bed, still sleeping. He was hooked up to an IV and had oxygen tubes in his nose, but otherwise seemed to be breathing well on his own. Sam could see the bee stings all over his face, neck, and arms. The areas were red and splotchy and twice their normal size. It looked like his left eye was swollen shut. 

There was another chair by the door that Sam sat in, deciding to mess with his phone until Dean (or Cas) woke up. 

A nurse entered the room after a few minutes and startled when she noticed him there. 

“Sorry,” Sam said, standing up and speaking quietly, “I’m Sam. I’m here to see Cas.” 

“Oh,” she said, equally quiet when she noticed Dean still sleeping, “I’m Ashley. You must be the other brother.” 

“Yeah, that’s me,” Sam said. 

“Well, you can relax, I’m just doing my rounds. We’ve been checking him every hour,” she said, going to inspect his IV fluids. “His heartrate and breathing is normal, but his immune system had an extremely violent reaction. We really had to dose him up. At this point we just have to wait for the system to calm down and let him sleep it all off.” 

“But he’ll be ok?” 

“The doctor will be in later,” she said, instead of answering his question. She saw Sam’s worried frown and sighed. “He should be able to go home as soon as he wakes up.” 

“Oh, okay, good. Thank you.” 

Ashley attached a blood pressure cuff to Cas’ arm and squinted at Cas’ face, looked at Dean, then back at Sam. 

“You three don’t really look alike. For brothers, I mean,” she said. 

“Cas had a different dad,” Sam said. _Very different_ , he thought.

“Hmm,” she said, looking down at him again as she removed the cuff. “I guess it’s hard to tell with all the…” she gestured vaguely at the swelling on Cas’ face then faltered, coughing in a sort of embarrassed, apologetic way. “Anyway, it’s nice of you all to be here for him.” 

Sam was quiet and watched as she continued. Occasionally she wrote something down or brought equipment in from a cart she had left in the hallway. She jostled the arm that Dean was holding onto as she detached the tubing from the fluids to get a blood draw from the IV. Dean snorted and woke up. 

“Cas?” he mumbled. 

“Still sleeping,” she said calmly. Dean went to remove his hand when he realized she was working on the arm, but she shook her head and said, “You don’t have to move, I’m almost done.” 

Dean nodded and looked up, blinked a few times at Sam. His eyes were red and puffy. 

“Sammy?” he said, rubbing the back of his hand across his face. “What time is it?” 

“About 8:30,” Sam said. 

“In the morning?” 

“Yeah, the morning.” 

“How’d you get here so fast?” 

Sam frowned. “I told you I was leaving last night.” 

“But you were still at least a two days drive –” 

“I flew, Dean. On an airplane. Took the redeye overnight, I tried to text you.” 

“Oh,” Dean said, like this would have never occurred to him. “Sorry, my phone is dead.” 

“I’ll be back in an hour,” Ashley said, briskly interrupting their conversation after flushing the IV and reattaching the fluids. “Just press the call button if you need anything,” she paused for a second, “or when he wakes up. Shouldn’t be long now.” 

When she left the room Dean did finally release Cas’ hand and got up from his seat. Sam could hear Dean’s knee pop loudly, but he didn’t seem to be limping or in pain, just a little stiff from sleeping in a chair all night. Sam got up, too, and met him in the middle, pulling his brother into a tight hug. 

“Damn, it’s good to see you,” Dean said, his voice a little muffled by Sam’s shoulder. He patted Sam twice on the back before releasing him. “You look better than I thought you would.” 

“I don’t know what that means,” Sam laughed, “but thanks.” 

“I wish you weren’t, uh, coming back for something like this.” His voice trailed off. He looked over at Cas and his eyes welled up with tears. 

“Hey,” Sam said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “The nurse said he’s waking up soon. He’s gonna be fine, Dean.” 

“Yeah, it’s just,” Dean sighed and wandered back to the bedside chair. He resumed his hold of Cas’ hand. “I built him that fucking apiary.” 

“What?” 

“It was my idea, keeping bees,” Dean nearly shouted, somewhat hysterical. Sam moved quickly to close the door to the room. “This is just what happens when I try to…I don’t know what the hell I was thinking.” 

“Dean,” Sam said, trying to keep his voice even, “you can’t possibly think this is your fault. It was an accident.” 

“Yeah, an accident involving bees that I fucking told him to get,” Dean sniffed, less hysterical and more miserable. 

Sam sighed. How he didn’t see this coming a mile away he would never know. The moon could fall from the sky and plummet to Earth and Dean would find a way to blame himself. 

“When was the last time you ate?” Sam asked. 

“Yesterday morning. Had some coffee here last night.” 

“Alright, I’m running downstairs and grabbing us some food,” Sam said. “I’ll leave my backpack here. There’s a phone charger you can use, and books and stuff.” 

“Okay,” Dean said, though Sam doubted he had really heard him. 

\--- 

They sat around eating shitty bagels and drinking shitty coffee. Dean eventually turned the TV on, but it was just for the noise. His eyes never left Cas’ face.

Nurse Ashley continued her rounds, not making any conversation the next few times. Just in-and-out, efficient and impersonal. Sam dozed in his chair, a book open in his lap. Dean shook him awake, offering to get lunch, but Sam’s focus was drawn by a small stirring of movement on the bed.

Cas opened his eyes.

“Dean,” Sam said, jerking his chin towards Cas. Dean sucked in a breath.

“Cas,” Dean said, immediately back at his side. “Hey, Cas, jeez, you scared the crap outta me.”

Cas blinked a few times, but his gaze was unfocused.

“Dean?” he said, his voice barely a whisper, before he broke into a wheezing cough.

Sam immediately went for the call button and notified the nurse he was awake.

Cas’ eyes started to close again and Dean put his hand on the side of his face that wasn’t swollen, patting it gently.

“Don’t go back to sleep yet, pal.”

“Dean,” he said again. Then, “Water.”

“Water?” Dean said, turning around and finding the plastic pitcher a nurse had left there earlier. “Sure, I’ll get you some water.”

A team of nurses and a woman in a white doctor’s coat came in at that moment, one of them pushing the cart with the blood pressure cuff and other medical apparatuses they had brought in earlier.  

“Would you mind stepping out of the room for a moment, please?” a male nurse asked.

Dean looked like he was about to punch him, and Sam was already moving in to block the swing, but Dean only took a deep breath and said, “He wants some water.”

The nurse nodded and ushered them from the room, muttering something about only needing a few minutes.

Sam leaned against the wall while Dean paced in front of the door.

“Why do they need us out of the room?” he huffed.

“I think it was just overcrowded,” Sam said.

Dean grumbled and kept pacing.

“He seemed fine,” Sam said. “It’s their job to make sure he _is_ fine.”

“I know, I know.”

It was only a few minutes before the doctor reappeared, the nurses still finishing up in the room as she closed the door behind her.

“Are you his family?” she asked.

“Yes,” they said in sync.

“Good,” she said, removing her gloves and stuffing them in her pocket before extending her hand to Sam, and then Dean. “I’m Dr. Krishnakumar. Castiel is recovering nicely. I’d like to observe him for at least two more hours, but then we can go ahead and start his paperwork to be discharged.”

“Really?” Dean said. “He’ll be okay?”

“Yes, he’ll be fine. He should continue to rest; the antihistamines are going to make him drowsy, and his throat may be a little swollen and scratchy, but he’s no longer exhibiting symptoms of anaphylactic shock. Does he have somebody at home to look after him?”

“Me,” Dean said, fiercely, like he dared anyone else to look after Cas. “He lives with me.”

“And I’ll be sticking around a few days,” Sam added.

“You will?” Dean asked.

“Dean, of course I will.”

The nurses finally filtered out of the room behind them, one of them approaching to say something privately to the doctor, who nodded and dismissed them.

“Someone will be with you soon for the paperwork and discharge instructions,” she said.

“Thank you, doctor,” Sam said, shaking her hand again. Dean was already gone, walking swiftly back into the room.

“Listen,” the doctor said once Dean was behind closed doors, “I didn’t want to scare your brother, but his friend in there had a really close call.”

Sam pursed his lips.

“Cas isn’t a friend, he’s our bro –”

“I know this is none of my business,” she said, holding up her hand, “and I’m not going to say anything to anyone, but I see the way he looks at him and he’s not the first man to pretend to be family so he can stay with his partner.”

Sam stayed quiet, better to just let her keep her plausible deniability. Dr. Krishnakumar seemed to understand and continued.

“If an instance like this happened again I’m not sure he could survive it. The thing about a bee allergy is you get more allergic each time you’re stung, so it might not have to be as bad an attack next time.”

“Does Cas know this?”

“Yes,” she said with a frown, “though he still seems to be hell-bent on keeping those bees. Obviously it’d be better if he stopped altogether, but there are a series of shots he can take to lower the risk. It won’t cure the allergy, but it should prevent a response like this from happening again.”

“Why do I hear another ‘but’ coming?”

“I am also aware he does not have health insurance,” she said.

“I can pay for it,” Sam said. “In fact, if all the billing can be directed to me for this visit and future visits, that would be great.”

“I’ll let discharge know,” she said, nodding and seeming satisfied.

“Thank you, again,” Sam said as she walked away.

Sam stayed a moment longer in the hallway and texted one of the hunters he had worked with in Washington. Together they had tracked down a dragon den, and had been hocking the hoard of valuables they had found. Time to cash in on his share.

When Sam returned to the room Dean was helping Cas drink, holding the cup of water as he sipped through a straw. Cas seemed more alert now, though his eyes still couldn’t open all the way. 

“Sam,” he said with a tired smile. “Dean said you were here.” 

“Yeah, I’m here,” Sam said, pulling his chair up close, opposite Dean. “How you holdin’ up?’

“I’ve been better,” Cas said, “but I have also been much worse.”

Sam snorted while Dean shook his head. Dean had stopped holding Cas’ hand since he’d awoken, but his hands kept twitching in his lap like he was actively fighting the urge to take it again.

“What the hell even happened?” Sam asked.

“Apparently I am allergic to bees.”

“We already know that part, though how you weren’t aware of this remains a big fuckin’ mystery,” Dean said with a scowl.

“I’d never been stung before,” Cas said. “Not since…well, I knew Jimmy was allergic. But this vessel has been made over so many times it never occurred to me it might still be an issue.”

“And why weren’t you wearing your gear, man?” Dean said, almost accusing. Sam gave him a sharp look and he calmed down. “You’re always so careful.”

“That was a very serious oversight on my part,” Cas said, starting to cough again. Dean lifted the water glass, letting Cas take a few sips. Cas cleared his throat and continued. “I was in the kitchen manning the phones – Rob and Rich want you to call them back about a lamia, by the way – when I heard a noise from outside. I looked out and saw a skunk getting into one of the hives. They eat bees, you know. So, I grabbed a broom and ran out to chase it away. I should’ve stopped to put my safety gear on, but I wasn’t thinking.” Speaking this much seemed to be making him tired, his breathing already labored. “Anyway, the bees were already agitated and I could feel the stings, but I had to make sure the skunk was gone. It finally ran off, but then I was very dizzy and that’s all I remember before waking up here.”

“Goddammit, Cas,” Dean muttered.

“I’m sorry for scaring you,” he whispered, directing this at Dean. “I was just worried about the bees.”

“He was just worried about the bees,” Dean repeated, laughing without humor.

“We’re glad you’re okay,” Sam said. Dean shook his head, not able to look directly at him. He might’ve been crying again.

“Dean?” Cas said.

Finally, Dean reached out, taking Cas’ hand in both of his. Cas sighed, resting his head back against the pillows and closing his eyes.


	7. Netflix and Chill

Cas was moved temporarily to the living room couch. He was still too weak to make it up and down the stairs on his own, so it was decided it would be easier for him to remain downstairs for the time being. He didn’t mind so much. He had ready access to Netflix and the couch was large and comfortable. There was also the fact that Dean had been staying downstairs with him.

The morning after his first night home he had woken up to find Dean sleeping on the floor in front of the couch. Cas knew he should tell him not to; it couldn’t be comfortable, and it certainly wasn’t necessary. However, some selfish part of him liked having Dean close. It was comforting to sleep with him nearby. He resolved to put a stop to it before that evening, but the day had dragged on and somehow he never found the opportunity.  

Sam had already gone to bed upstairs and Dean was on the couch with Cas, nodding off to old episodes of _Great British Bake Off_.

“You should go to bed,” Cas said, his voice still coming out raspier than usual. He coughed and took a sip of stale water from the bottle on the table next to him.

“Yeah, probably,” Dean said, rubbing his eyes. He stood up and stretched before leaving the room. Cas settled deeper into the couch, tugging his blanket up as if the room was immediately colder. Dean then returned with a pillow and throw blanket from the hall closet, tossing the pillow to the ground on the rug in front of Cas.

“Dean,” Cas started.

“Let me know if they get the crème pat to set in time,” he said around a yawn, settling in on the floor and turning away from Cas.

\---

Cas was woken up in the middle of the night by a scuffling sound on the floor. The TV screen had gone gray, Netflix asking if he wanted to continue watching. The time on the cable box read 4:13.

The source of the scuffling was Dean, tossing and turning on the floor. It looked like he had added three more pillows under him at some point in the night. Cas sighed.

“Dean?”

“Sorry,” he muttered, voice gruff, “did I wake you?”

“You should go to your bed, Dean.”

“Nah, it’s cool, I’m fine down here.”

“At least sleep on the couch instead of the floor.”

Cas wasn’t sure what made him suggest it. Maybe it was his sleep-deprived, drug-addled brain. Maybe it was something he’d been waiting for an excuse to ask for a while.

“You sure?” Dean asked. “It’ll be kind of a tight fit.”

Cas had never been more sure of anything.

“It will be fine.” he said.

Dean grunted, finally relenting, and picked his pillow and blanket off of the floor. Cas scooted back to make more room as Dean placed the pillow by Cas’ feet, so they would be lying in opposite directions. Cas found he was a little disappointed.

Dean squeezed himself onto the couch as best he could.

“Are you comfortable?” Cas asked.

“Yeah, I’m good,” he mumbled. “Thanks, Cas.”

Cas restarted the Netflix episode and they both quietly fell back to sleep.

\---

_Cas kept a collection of journals in a shoebox under his bed. Three were filled, the one on top about a quarter of the way done. Sam had given him the first one when they were packing up the bunker. Sam had opened it, grimaced at the first page, and then tore several pages out._

_“I don’t know why I do this to myself,” he had grumbled. “All of my hunting stuff just goes on the tablet anyway. I don’t need this military code word crap on paper. I’m not my dad.”_

_“Maybe you could use it for something else,” Cas had suggested. Sam shook his head._

_“I know I won’t. But you could, if you want.”_

_Cas hadn’t been sure what to write about at first. He wrote about his memories from heaven, described the hierarchy and history of angels, and attempted to translate a few Enochian jokes. Without his grace, his memory was getting weaker every day, and he thought maybe one day he wouldn’t remember anything at all. Despite knowing this couldn’t be true, he would sometimes flip through the pages and wonder what was so noteworthy about this information that he’d want to remember it anyway. He was never really sure who he was writing for. He never shared it with Sam or Dean._

_The next journal became more like a diary. Usually it relayed some small detail about Cas’ day: an interesting rock he had found or a nest of baby birds in the eaves of the front porch. Occasionally there was something more substantial._

_“Today Sam and Dean got into a fight,” one June entry said. “At first I thought they were arguing about what movie to watch, but then it turned into them screaming about Mary. Dean still thinks there’s something they could have done to bring her back. Sam knows that there wasn’t. Mary made her own choice. She died, but she took Lucifer with her. How very like a Winchester.”_

_There’s a line break, and then scribbled toward the bottom of the page is an addendum to this entry._

_“Sam has taken the Impala. He’s been gone for three hours. Dean has locked his door. He will not talk to me.”_

_Those kinds of entries showed up more and more towards the end of the second journal, and completely filled the third. After Sam left, his daily entries turned into one or two short sentences._

_“Today I drove to town and bought groceries. Dean hasn’t been using his cane and his knee popped out of the socket again.”_

_“Today I went to the library and brought Dean a_ Justice League _comic. He smiled for the first time in eight days.”_

_“Today Dean told me I needed a haircut, sat me down in the kitchen chair, and did it himself. It was nice.”_

_“Today Dean gave me a beehive. He built it himself. I think that I love him.”_

\---

When Cas woke up the next morning, he was alone on the couch once more. He looked around, trying to see if Dean was still nearby, when he overheard Sam and Dean in the kitchen.

“– told you not to eat the last of the Cap’n Crunch, man.”

“You did not,” Sam argued between a few wet, crunching noises.

“Well, I just figured you wouldn’t eat it ‘cause you’ve always hated it.”

“Your cupboard is bare, dude; it’s all I could find. I’ll head to the grocery store after this.”

“You don’t have to–”

“Dean, c’mon.”

Some silent communication must have passed between them because he didn’t hear anything else for a minute or two.

“You and Cas looked cozy this morning,” Sam said. Cas could hear the smile in his voice.

“Shut up.”

“I’m just saying.”

“Look, he asked me to, okay?” Dean said. Cas forced himself to bite his tongue and not interject. “Someone should be with him anyway. You know, just making sure he keeps breathing through the night.”

“He’s fine, Dean.”

“I know. And you know how I know that? Because I was there with him,” he said. He then added, irately, “I mean, it’s different for us anyway. We’ve got that bond, remember?”

“A bond, huh?”

“The guy’s been through it all with me. Purgatory, he freaking raised me from Hell –”

“—He raised me from Hell, too –”

“—Yeah, well he came for me first.”

At that point there were a lot of choking and sputtering sounds from Sam. Dean groaned when Sam started to laugh in earnest.

“Oh, grow up, Sammy.”

“You walked right into that one, man.”

“You knew what I meant.”

“Did I, Dean? Did I know?”

Cas tried to hold back a cough, but ended up wheezing instead and the conversation ended.

“Cas, you okay?” Dean asked, poking his head in the living room.

“Fine,” Cas said, finally allowing himself to cough. “I’m fine.”

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” Sam said, appearing in the doorway as well.

“That’s alright, I should get up,” Cas sighed. “I feel much better today. I’d like to go out.”

“Out?” Dean frowned.

“Just for a short walk maybe. Around the yard.”

“Not a chance. I’m not letting you near those bees again until you’ve finished the shots,” Dean argued.

“Why don’t you go into town with me?” Sam said. Dean glanced sideways at him and Sam elbowed him. “It’s just to get groceries, in and out, less than thirty minutes. And all indoors. It’ll be good for him.”

A phone started ringing in the kitchen. It was the _X-Files_ theme song; one of the FBI phones.

“Alright, in and out,” Dean said, pointing at his brother as he walked back into the kitchen. Sam rolled his eyes and smirked at Cas, who returned the expression.

\---

“What kinds of cheese do you like, Cas?”

“Oh, just the kind Dean gets is fine,” Cas said, shuffling to keep up with Sam.

“You can do better than that individually wrapped American garbage,” Sam said, putting a block of white cheese in the cart. He started to walk away then backtracked, grabbing the sliced cheese that Dean liked and tossing it in the cart. He shrugged, and Cas understood. Sam wasn’t here to rehash old fights.

Most of the shopping trip proceeded this way, with Cas knowing Dean’s preferences but having very few opinions of his own. Sam loaded up on the items Cas mentioned, but bought the low-fat version when he thought he could get away with it and added some extra produce.

The only thing Dean made a list for was his baking ingredients.

“So,” Sam said, “Dean bakes now?”

“Yes,” Cas said. “He’s very good.”

“I dunno how,” Sam said, debating between the sticks of margarine and real butter. Cas put the real butter in the cart and Sam sighed. “He’s done a lot of eating sweets, not a lot of making them.”

“He started when you left.”

“Oh.”

They were quiet for a bit, walking in companionable silence. Cas was starting to get lightheaded, but he tried not to let it show.

“He’s started using my honey,” Cas said, “in the baked goods. We sell them at the farmer’s market, it’s been pretty successful.”

“No kidding,” Sam said. He opened his mouth to say something then seemed to reconsider.

“What?”

“You guys have made a nice life for yourself here,” Sam said. “I never pictured something like this for Dean. I don’t think _Dean_ ever pictured something like this for Dean.”

“Perhaps not,” Cas chuckled. “But he seems happy.”

“Of course he’s happy,” Sam said. “He’s with you.”

Cas wasn’t sure if this was an appropriate topic to broach with Dean’s brother and only family, but he had no one else to ask.

“Do you think he knows?” Cas blurted out. “Do you think he knows that I – that I –”

He can’t seem to make himself finish the sentence. Sam took pity on him, answering his half-formed question anyway.

“No. I don’t think he has a damn clue.”

Cas gaped.

“It’s been years, Sam.”

“I know.” Sam seemed pained, but not surprised by this revelation that Cas wasn’t even sure was true until he said it out loud.

“ _Years_ ,” Cas reiterated, more for his own benefit than Sam’s. “I find it unbelievable that he doesn’t even have the faintest idea.”

“Well,” Sam huffed, “have you ever actually told him? Or at least given him a hint?”

“No, of course not.”

Sam clapped him on this shoulder and started pushing the cart towards the checkout counter.

“Yeah, buddy. That’d be why.”

\---

_There was a gentle knock at Cas’ door. He glanced up from the journal he had balanced on his knee. This journal, the fourth one, was slowly turning into a narrative about his life, though Cas wouldn’t dare call it an autobiography. It was informal, writing events in his life in order of impact rather than anything chronological. He marked his place in the journal and set it next to him on the bed._

_“Come in,” he said._

_Dean opened the door, looking away and at the floor when he realized Cas wasn’t wearing a shirt. Cas couldn’t remember ever feeling shy before, not about his body anyway. He resisted the urge to cover up. He could be shirtless in his own room._

_“Was wondering if you were up,” Dean said, hair rumpled and eyes still swollen from sleep._

_Dean did this sometimes, and Cas could read between the lines. Dean wanted to see if Cas was still there._

_“Yes,” Cas said, “but I should probably sleep soon. I didn’t realize what time it was.”_

_“Hey, don’t let me stop you from doing...” he faltered, noticing the journal for the first time. “What are you doing?”_

_“Writing,” Cas said._

_“Since when do you write?”_

_“I started a while ago. I think Sam thought it would help me cope.”_

_“Does it? Help you, I mean?”_

_“I think so,” Cas said. “Though that’s not why I do it.”_

_Dean was still hovering awkwardly in the doorway, so Cas patted the edge of the mattress in invitation. Dean’s eyes widened, but he went to Cas without comment. He was only wearing a tight t-shirt and boxers; it was Cas’ turn to avert his eyes._

_“What do you write about?” Dean asked._

_“Just now I was writing some memories from heaven.”_

_“You ever write anything about me?” Dean tried to make it sound like a joke, like he expected Cas to banter back._

_“Of course I have,” Cas heard himself say. This was getting worse, the filter between his brain and his mouth slowly disintegrating into nothing. “That’s what I’m doing.”_

_“But you just said –”_

_“I’m writing about the time right before I left heaven,” Cas explained. When Dean remained frowning, confused, Cas elaborated. “Dean, when the prophecy of the apocalypse was foretold, and the fate of the Winchester brothers decided, I was called in by the highest ranking officials of that time to be given my assignment. You.” Cas took a deep breath. “You have been my charge since before you were even born.”_

You have always been mine, _Cas thought. He was impressed he managed to keep that thought to himself._

_Dean didn’t seem to know what to say. He picked at Cas’ quilt, eyes still downcast._

_“I could read it to you sometime,” Cas said, “if you’d like.”_

_“No,” Dean said. He looked at Cas, grazing over his bare chest before meeting his eyes. Cas’ heart jumped to his throat. “You don’t have to do that.”_

_“I know I don’t have to,” Cas said, holding his gaze. Dean’s brows were furrowed; his mouth turned down and dimpled at the corner. Cas wanted to smooth it all out with his hands._

_“Goodnight, Cas,” Dean said, barely a whisper. He left the room and closed the door behind him._

\---

It was Sam’s last night at the house. The next morning he would fly to California, assuring both Cas and Dean that there was a family of hunters expecting him and would make sure he got there okay. Dean made spaghetti for dinner (with minor assistance from Cas), followed by rhubarb crumble in individual ramekins. He had made a large batch and was bringing the rest in individual tins to the farmer’s market the next morning. Against Cas’ better judgement, Dean insisted he should take more time to recuperate and he could “run the damn thing for just one morning.” Sam was thoroughly impressed by the crumble, even asking for seconds, but Dean shrugged it off.

“This was just something I could make quickly and make a lot of,” he said. “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”

Cas tried to help when Sam started washing the dishes, but Dean noticed him starting to droop.

“I can do that, go lie down,” Dean said. “You had a busy day.”

“All I did was help you wash the car and cook dinner.”

“Yeah, like I said, busy day.” Dean crossed him arms and raised an eyebrow. Cas rolled his eyes.

“Very well, but I’d like to be in my own bed tonight.”

Cas regretted saying this almost immediately. The night before Dean had crawled onto the couch unbidden. He had placed himself directly behind Cas that time, wrapping his arms around his middle and holding him close while he thought Cas was sleeping. Cas had never known happiness like he had in that moment, with Dean’s solid body pressed behind him, his breath ghosting over his neck.  When he woke up alone he wondered if he dreamt it. It wouldn’t have been the first time he’s had such dreams.

Dean relented, but ignored Cas’ protests when he insisted on bringing him up the stairs. Cas stopped resisting when he realized this meant Dean was keeping a hand solidly pressed against his back.

“You okay?” Dean asked at the top of the stairs. Cas was a little out of breath, but not as bad as he expected.

“Yes, thank you, Dean.”

“I should get back to Sam,” he said, not making any move to leave.

“Maybe you can bring your laptop to my room later,” Cas said, “so we can finish season two of the _Great British Bake Off_. There are only two episodes left.”

“Already? Yeah, Cas, good idea. I’ll be back up in a little while, okay?”

Cas nodded, not trusting his voice.

Cas closed the door to his room and shed the jeans and sweater he’d been wearing. He hadn’t taken a real shower in days, and it would keep him from driving himself to distraction waiting for Dean. He had somehow ended up with the master bedroom and en suite bathroom. Sam and Dean had a bathroom in the hallway they had shared, insisting they were used to it, though it eventually ended up belonging solely to Dean anyway.

Cas ran the water slightly too hot, letting the bathroom fill with clouds of steam. He stepped under the spray, not moving for a while, just enjoying the feeling of hot water beating down on his back and watching his skin turn pink.

Of all the mundane human activities he was required to do on a regular basis, showering was the only one he really liked. He liked the white noise of water rushing past his ears, the smell of his soap, and the heat. He liked knowing that he was truly and safely alone, with little risk of Dean walking in to ask him a question or talk about something.

His body was already starting to remember what it felt like to have Dean pressed against him the night before. At the time he had been worried about Dean shifting his hands in his sleep and accidentally brushing against his erection.

Now that sounded like some sort of fantasy. Cas grabbed the shampoo to distract from this line of thinking. This backfired when he rubbed the shampoo into his scalp, tugging gently on his hair, imagining Dean’s hands instead of his own.

He grabbed the base of his dick, now properly and embarrassingly hard. Dean was going to be near him again soon. He started rubbing his body with soap, clinical and quick. He had to put a stop to this before…

A thought occurred to him. Perhaps it would be better, even prudent, to take care of it now in order to avoid anything awkward happening while Dean was with him. The more Cas considered this, the more he convinced himself this was the ideal solution. He let his hands wander again.

He imagined himself and Dean back on the couch, but this time sans clothing. He could feel every inch of his body, the warmth of his skin. Dean had one arm wrapped around his chest, then one arm intentionally dipping below his waistline. His hand was hot and fast and moved exactly how Cas liked it.

Cas came with a shout, and then quickly tried to wash away the evidence from the shower wall, even though he would be the only one to ever see it. He was out of breath again, which would be normal, but it seemed his lungs were not up for this kind of activity yet.

Cas turned the knob of the shower, cooling the water down. He waited to feel ashamed of his thoughts, as he often did when he woke up from dreams of similar situations, but the feeling did not come. Despite the cold water, he still felt warm. He knew he was smiling and couldn’t seem to help it. Dean made him feel this way, even just the idea of Dean. He thought about what Sam said the day before at the grocery store.

_Have you ever actually told him?_


	8. Gay Crisis and Plants

_Dean hung up the Florida State Police cell phone, their most recent addition to the State Police collection, and placed it back in the bin with the others. Cas had bought a label maker some months ago and had neatly stuck a tab on the back of each phone, indicating what line it belonged to and the alias that went along with it. Bobby was probably up in heaven, rolling his eyes and muttering about these fancy-gadgeted idjits, and how a corded phone on the wall and some masking tape was always good enough for him._

_It started as Sam’s idea, but Cas took it and ran. There was a shelf in the kitchen specifically designated for the hunter phones, each bin on the shelf categorized then further subcategorized. Sam had left almost eight months ago, but would still mail a new phone every once in a while, if he made a new connection to a group of hunters needing a base for information or an alibi. Some hunters hung up immediately when they found out they were talking to a Winchester, but the rest didn’t mind._

_Castiel would usually handle calls about the lore, Dean would handle authority figures, and Sam rigged the router in their house to make the phone calls untraceable. They had a system._

_“Was that the shtriga in Hastings?” Cas asked, meandering into the kitchen toward the fridge. He was wearing drawstring pants that hung low on his hips, and a long sleeved shirt with a deep V neckline. Dean frowned and picked at his fingernails, avoiding further observations that could be made about Cas’ appearance._

_“No, it’s that fucking swamp thing in Florida again. They said they took care of it last month.”_

_“I think they breed.”_

_“Gross.”_

_Where Dean had gotten soft in the last year, due to lack of mobility and their new domestic lifestyle, Cas seemed fitter than ever. Sam had gotten him started on some regular exercising regimen before he left, and it seemed like he kept it up. His shoulders were broader, and his arms were downright thick. Dean had always thought of Cas as being so much smaller than him, but maybe it was just because he was swallowed by that trench coat._

_“What?” Cas asked, taking a sip of orange juice straight from the carton._

_“Nothing,” Dean said, too embarrassed at being caught staring to berate Cas about using a glass. He’d probably learned that move from Dean anyway._

\---

Dean changed into pajama pants before knocking on Cas’ door, laptop in hand. When Cas’ muffled reply came from inside, Dean opened the door.

“I’ll be out in a second,” Cas said from his bathroom, steam rolling out from the crack in the doorway.

Dean made himself at home, sitting on the bed and pulling Netflix up in the browser. When Cas exited the bathroom he was only wearing loose sweatpants, his hair was damp, and there were pink spots of calamine lotion on some of the worst stings down his arms, neck, and chest. The marks had yet to fade, but the swelling in his face had finally gone down.

Cas quickly crossed the room and retrieved a loose t-shirt from his dresser, pulling it over his head. Dean almost told him not to, before realizing how absurd that would sound. _Settle down, Winchester._

“Did you get it set up?” Cas asked, crawling into his side of the bed, easy as anything, like they did this every night. Maybe they should start.

“Uh huh,” Dean said, relaxing back and setting the laptop between them, but not getting under the blanket.

Dean started the episode they had left off on. French week. The contestants had to make little, savory bite-sized things, as well as some hellish looking dessert that involved sponge cake and gelatin. Dean wasn’t really paying attention.

Cas had turned off the table lamp, so the only thing illuminating his face was the blue light of the screen. It made his features look sharper, his cheeks and lips more pronounced. Dean tried to glue his eyes to the screen instead.

Throughout the episode they started gravitating toward each other. Dean told himself it was just the way the mattress dipped, but by the end of the episode their sides were pressed together, Cas’ head resting on his shoulder. Cas took his hand when the next episode started automatically playing.

Dean could barely hear what they were saying about the technical challenge, his heartbeat was so loud. His body was a livewire; sparking everywhere Cas’ body touched his. He started stroking his thumb across Cas’ knuckles and swore he felt Cas shudder.

The episode ended and Dean hit the stop button before it could roll into the next season.

“Should we call it a night?”

“I suppose,” Cas said, yawning.

Dean closed the laptop, moving it onto the nightstand as he prepared to swing his legs over and get out of bed.

“Stay,” Cas said, tugging gently on the hand he was still holding.

Dean didn’t need to be told twice.

Getting under the blanket was easier now that they were in almost complete darkness. He and Cas found each other again, at the center of the bed, hands and legs tangled together.

Dean couldn’t think about what this meant. He could only think about how hot it was getting, Cas’ pulse under his fingertips, the sound of his breathing.

Cas was here and was his and nothing was going to take that from him.

They both pretended to actually try to sleep for about three minutes, before Dean pulled Cas close and found his mouth in the dark, kissing him deeply.

Cas melted, then hungrily kissed him back. He tasted like toothpaste, and his stubble burned a bit, and Dean couldn’t stop kissing him.

Dean propped himself up on his elbow, changing the position so he was leaning over Cas, letting his lips explore Cas’ jaw and neck. Cas let out a low, breathy moan and rolled onto his back, grappling at Dean’s shoulders and hooking a leg around his thigh, pulling him down so he would lie on top of him. Dean happily obliged.

“Dean,” Cas gasped, bucking his hips. “Wanted this for so –”

Dean silenced him with another kiss – he can’t have this conversation right now – and then froze as he rested his full weight on Cas. He could feel Cas’ fully hard length pressed between them. He had, until this point, been completely ignoring what his own body was doing, thinking there was no way the same thing was happening to Cas. It was weird, and foreign, and he had no idea how to proceed, but he couldn’t stop now.

He slid his thigh high between Cas’ legs, and deliberately pressed down against his crotch. Cas’ eyes rolled back in his head, his fingernails scratching up and down the back of Dean’s t-shirt. They were both still fully clothed, and it didn’t seem like a barrier either of them were willing to cross yet.

Dean let Cas rub against his thigh as he bit and licked along his throat and collarbone. Cas’ shirt was rucked up around his waist, and Dean started touching the exposed skin around his hips, his fingers tracing the Enochian tattoo he had there.

“Dean!” Cas shouted, and Dean suddenly stopped moving, laying his body flat over Cas and clapping his hand over his mouth.

“Quiet,” Dean hissed, speaking for the first time since they started. His voice was rough and strained. “Sam’s across the hall.”

Cas blinked, and then Dean could feel him grin against his palm.

“What’s so funny?” Dean asked, removing his hand.

“We’ve been alone in this house for over a year,” Cas whispered, “and now is the time we chose to do this.”

And that’s all the talking Dean could stand before his lips were back on Cas, and his hands started feeling up the planes of Cas’ chest under his shirt.

Cas followed Dean’s lead and let his hands roam across the skin of his back. By unspoken agreement, neither of them went below the waistband.

Dean knew he couldn’t last much longer, despite having not even touched himself. Both of them were panting, but for Cas it was beginning to sound a little more like wheezing.

“You okay?” Dean asked.

Cas nodded. “Don’t stop.”

Dean flipped Cas half onto his side, half onto his stomach. Cas quickly readjusted himself and was already trying to back his ass into him. That does it for Dean.

He wrapped one arm around Cas’ chest, and the other reached into Cas’ hair, tugging his head to the side so he had easier access to mouth at his neck. He started rocking his hips against Cas’ ass, the pajama pants giving him just-on-this-side-of-painful friction.

Cas was honest to god biting a pillow, his hands fisted in the sheets. He let out a frustrated whine. It seemed like he couldn’t decide what he’d rather be doing more; pressing his own hips into the mattress or rocking back against Dean.

“Fuck, Cas,” Dean whispered, words suddenly needing to spill out. “You feel that? You like it?”

Cas could only groan, but Dean didn’t want him to be quiet anymore. He reached down and grasped Cas’ hip for better leverage.

“Grind your ass on me, yeah, shit, like that. Oh, god. God, Cas, you feel so fucking good.”

Dean’s teeth found the juncture of Cas’ neck and shoulder and bit down. Cas moaned, his hips stuttered then stilled. Dean was practically fully on top of Cas now, his pajamas halfway down his own ass, and cock only half covered by them as he finished himself, spilling onto the small of Cas’ back.

He managed to collapse sideways to avoid crushing Cas. Dean readjusted his pants so he was fully covered again, but Cas made no such attempt. Cas wasn’t moving at all except for the rise and fall of his chest, his limbs limp like a ragdoll.

Dean fell asleep to the sounds of their breathing slowing down and crickets chirping outside.

\---

_Dean was still picturing Cas in those loose sweatpants hours later when he was alone in his room. Dean had always thought of Cas as his best friend. He still did, though there may have been a few occasions over the years where his thoughts of him became slightly less than heterosexual. However, it was infrequent enough that he could ignore it, pretend it hadn’t happened._

_Cas as an angel has seemed like such a nonsexual entity to Dean. The one time he tried to get him laid he looked scared out of his wits, and when he finally did get laid it was while he was human. And then she tried to kill him._

_Dean told himself time and time again that obsessing over the sexual preferences of your best friend wasn’t normal. Who Cas did or didn’t want to fuck was none of his business. For over eight years of friendship, that line of thinking had been enough to keep him in check._

_Then Cas was really and truly human, and they were practically living in each other’s laps. Without his magic angel dry-cleaning powers, he had to actually wear different clothes every day. (Initially, Dean had to constantly remind him of this). Cas brushed his hair and cut his fingernails and shaved his face just like everybody else. He even smelled different, a little warmer and kind of like home._

_Yet, he was still the same guy. The same nerdy angel who gave up heaven for…whatever this was. Domesticity. Playing house. But even without the hunting and smiting, he still had that same burning fire in his eyes, like he and Dean could take the world if they wanted to; the same gruff voice that could never seem to stop saying his name; the same proud chin and soft mouth._

_Cas had seemed so untouchable before. Now he was maddeningly the opposite._

_Dean shoved his hand down the front of his pants, hoping against hope that Cas truly couldn’t hear his thoughts anymore, because the way he was longing for Cas right now was a lot like praying._

\---

Dean snuck out of Cas’ room around 5am, hoping that he would beat Sam and wake up first. He tiptoed down the hallway, Sam’s door still blessedly closed. Dean retrieved a change of clothes from his room before going into their shared bathroom to shower. He could still feel the remnants of last night on his skin.

The water was still slightly too cold, but he jumped in anyway. He said to himself it would help him wake up, be alert for the drive to Denver Airport, but the truth was he had never slept better in his entire life. He felt good. A little too good. He needed the cold shower.

The whole thing still didn’t feel real, despite the evidence to the contrary. It had all happened so fast. It had seemed like the right thing to do in the moment, but now Dean wasn’t sure. They should’ve discussed things first. Or after. Or at any point in between. Christ, he hadn’t even warned the guy, he just shoved his tongue in his mouth without thinking.

 _What if he didn’t want it?_ The thought made Dean’s stomach drop. _What if he thinks this is normal or something? What if he was just being nice?_

Or worse.

_He doesn’t feel the same way. He just wanted to get off. Only natural, since he’s human now._

Dean’s eyes stung so badly for a second he thought he got shampoo in them. He stayed in the shower long after he’d finished washing.

\---

“Cas still asleep?” Sam asked as Dean entered the kitchen. He didn’t look up from the piece of toast he was buttering.

“Yeah, he sleeps like the dead,” Dean said, belatedly wondering if he should’ve been more vague. Did Sam know they had slept together?

“That’s okay,” Sam said, taking a chomp out of his toast as he cleared the butter. “We said our goodbyes last night.”

Dean breathed. “You ready to hit the road?”

“Yeah, you sure you don’t want anything first? Coffee? I can make you some toast, we’ve got time.”

“Nah,” Dean said. He had to get out of the house. “Better to be early to these things, and besides, I’ve gotta get to the farmer’s market to set up. I’ve already loaded the car, we should get going.”

Sam shrugged, but didn’t argue, bringing his toast and his backpack out to the car with Dean trailing behind him. He cast a glance upstairs, but Cas’ door was still closed.

\---

“Dean, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“You let me play 2112 the whole way here. You hate Rush.”

“I don’t hate them, I just think –”

“Dean.”

Dean sighed, and turned onto the exit that that would bring them to the airport. It wasn’t that Dean didn’t want to talk, he just didn’t know what to say.

“Is this about last night?” Sam asked.

“What about last night?”

“Dude, my room is right across the hall from Cas’. It’s an old house with thin walls.”

Dean groaned, rolling his eyes toward the ceiling of the Impala. He hadn’t really had faith that Sam hadn’t heard anything, but he had still been clinging to the hope that he’d be tactful enough not to bring it up.

Sam seemed to hear his thoughts, because he then added, “And even if I hadn’t heard all of that, I still have eyes. And a brain. Why are you trying to hide this from me?”

“I’m not trying to hide anything,” Dean insisted. “There’s nothing going on.”

Dean caught Sam’s death glare out of his peripherals.

“Nothing before last night, anyway,” Dean amended.

“I take it Cas finally told you, then?” Sam asked.

“Told me what?”

Sam frowned, confused.

“I won’t get graphic, Sammy, but there was very little talking going on.”

“Forget I said anything,” Sam said, grimacing. “You’ll get there eventually. I hope.”

Dean pulled into the departure area and stopped in front of Sam’s airline.

“I’ll be the first to admit I’m a little out of my depth with him,” Dean said. “But what am I supposed to do, Sam?”

“I think you and him should have a real adult conversation about your feelings.”

“ _Feelings_?”

“Man up,” Sam said, throwing his backpack onto his shoulder and climbing out the Impala. He leaned through the window and smiled. “And treat him right. He deserves it.”

“Hey, isn’t he the one who’s supposed to get the ‘if you break his heart’ speech?”

“Bye, Dean,” he said with a smirk, patting the roof of the car before walking off.

“Call when you land!” Dean yelled, and Sam waved in reply.

\---

Running the booth at the farmer’s market was a welcome distraction from Dean’s morning. It was as busy as ever, though it seemed like the popularity of Cas’ goods had grown in the past several weeks. Cas had told Dean this, but he had yet to see it for himself. People scrambled to the table to make sure they got the exact flavor of honey they wanted, or the cheesecake that everyone had been talking about. The rhubarb crumble was a success as well. Phoenix even jumped over to take orders when he got swamped.

“What about your table?”  Dean asked, when he noticed her putting his cakes in to-go boxes.

“Plants can wait,” she said. “Food is not patient.”

The remainder of the day went a little more smoothly, the crowds dying down when he wrote SOLD OUT on the chalkboard where he had listed the day’s baked goods.  He was joking around with Phoenix when a woman in a sharp, white blazer stepped up to the table.

“Excuse me?” she said. “Are you Castiel?”

“No, I’m Dean,” he said, reaching out to shake her hand, “Dean Campbell.”

“His partner?”

“Yes,” Dean said, before he could think too long about exactly what that meant.

“Well, I’m glad to have caught you before the end of the day. My name is Holly Nguyen,” she said with a toothy smile.

“What can I do for you, Holly?”

“Well, I’ll be honest with you, Dean. I’m mostly here as a fan of Castiel’s products, and what you have here at the _Heaven on Earth_ booth, but I also have an offer for you,” she said, handing him a business card.

“Boulder County Realty, huh?” Dean said, reading the card.

“There’s a storefront in downtown Louisville that recently became available,” she said, “and I think your business would be a wonderful asset to the area. I don’t know if it’s something either of you ever considered, but when I took on the property you were the first people I thought of.”

“I – honestly, I really don’t know,” Dean said, looking over to Phoenix, who smiled and gave him a thumbs up.

“Well, just think about it,” Holly said earnestly. “At least come and check it out sometime, I’d be happy to set up a tour.”

“That’s really nice of you,” Dean said, still staring at the card like he was searching for a catch.

“Just give me a call,” she said.

Dean watched her walk away, her long, black ponytail swinging behind her.

“Well, damn,” Phoenix said. “Cas will be thrilled.”

“You think so?”

“Why wouldn’t he be?” she said. She rolled her eyes before Dean could answer. “C’mon, help me take my stuff out to the car, then we’ll talk about what’s really bothering you.”

\---

“Shit,” Phoenix said.

“I know.”

“I mean, shit.”

Dean passed the joint they were sharing and she took a long drag, then exhaled and looked up at the sky.

They were sitting on the back of her truck, plants packed in behind them, and their legs dangling off the edge of the bed. Dean had his bad leg propped up on a bag of mulch, his knee aching from standing all morning. Since the end of the market, the overflow parking lot had been abandoned, and they were able to speak – and smoke – freely.

“I figured you would pick up on it right away,” Dean said.

“You were a little preoccupied,” she said, shaking her head. “And it’s harder to narrow down thoughts in crowds, even if it’s someone I know.”

They were quiet for a moment, the skunky smoke permeating the air around them. Phoenix took another drag.

“How did you and Jana get together?” Dean asked. Phoenix smiled at the memory and passed the joint back to Dean.

“It was sort of ridiculous. We were in each other’s orbit for over a year until one of us finally made a move.”

“You?”

“Her, actually. I had been trying to shut out the signals I was getting from her, because I was convinced I was projecting them.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” she laughed. “It’s happened before. I was so self-involved in how much I loved her that I couldn’t even imagine, or read the obvious signs, that she loved me back. Finally, she just kissed me and I knew.” She looked at Dean out of the corner of her eye. “A bit like you and Cas.”

“I don’t know how Cas feels,” Dean said. “Not really.”

“Do you still have those flowers I gave you?” she asked.

“Yes,” Dean said slowly, confused by the subject change. “Cas planted them, actually, in front of the house. You were right, they’re starting to climb and take over the porch railing.”

“Interesting,” she said, nodding. She stubbed the joint out in an empty planter next to her. “Do you know what they mean? Morning Glory?”

“Flowers mean things?”

“I’ll let you look it up later,” Phoenix said with a smirk, hopping off the truck. “I was trying to help you, but Jana told me not to interfere so I had to be subtle. Symbolic, even.”

“Phoenix, what are you –“

“Point being,” she continued, “you need to talk to Cas, but you say you’re not so good with words.”

Phoenix’s eyes lit up the second the idea entered Dean’s head.

“I know what to do,” Dean said.


	9. Bees and Bakeries

Cas finally blinked his eyes open around noon. He knew Dean would be gone before he could catch him, so he hadn’t seen the point in greeting the day any earlier than necessary. He wasn’t sure what he would have done even if he had woken up with Dean. Would they talk? Part of him hoped that Dean would wake him up with a kiss and they would do it all over again.

Well, a little more than part of him.

He rinsed off in the shower and changed into jeans and a t-shirt, belatedly realizing it was an AC/DC t-shirt he had ‘borrowed’ some months ago that never made it back into Dean’s drawer. He stumbled downstairs with his ruined sheets and pajama pants bundled in his arms, and then threw them in the washing machine. He considered leaving them, if only to serve as proof that last night wasn’t a dream. He shook his head and scolded himself for getting sentimental about dirty sheets.

Cas had always been too sentimental. Angel or human, it was still a weakness. Only as a human he felt less inclined to let it bother him.

He found some ibuprofen in the kitchen and washed down the tablets with orange juice. He had a headache almost like a hangover; a feeling which he was unfortunately familiar with now. Dean was a terrible drinking buddy, in that his main goal was always to incite competition and drink the other under the table. Funny enough, neither of them ever felt like anybody had truly won.

Again, Cas mentally reprimanded himself. There had to be something he could do that morning that would take his mind off Dean. He paced around the house for twenty minutes before he grabbed the keys to his truck. He had a check-up and his first injection for the allergy shots, though the appointment wouldn’t be for another two hours. He had been cooped up for the better part of a week; he just needed to get out. It had nothing to do with the fact that everything he could conceive of doing somehow reminded him of Dean.

Better to not keep fooling himself. It was a one-time thing. Dean would only ask him to forget it ever happened.

\---

_Castiel prided himself in knowing his customers by name, and always introduced himself to a new face. That afternoon hadn’t been very busy, the regulars had come and gone, and he considered packing up the table early and going home to help Dean with the phones. He turned away from the table to fish his phone out of his pocket to text Dean._

_“Excuse me, how much are your 12 ounce jars?”_

_“The 12 ounce would be –” he glanced up from his phone and stared, “Gail?”_

_“Castiel?” she said with a startled laugh. “I almost didn’t recognize you. I’m surprised you remembered me.”_

_It had been many years, but there was no mistaking the auburn-haired cherub; though she now wore gym clothes and had a yoga mat slung on a strap over her shoulder. Gail once tried to assist him in restoring order to heaven by giving up her bow, but that was before either of them knew it was intended for the ill-fated spell that cast the angels from heaven. The arm where he had severed her hand was now fitted with a prosthetic. She noticed Cas eyeing it and gave him a wan smile._

_“Well, we never did return to heaven, did we?”_

_“I’m sorry, Gail.”_

_“Don’t be,” she said. “I like it here. I have my own yoga studio, I have a cat. It’s not exactly carrying out God’s will anymore, arranging lives and sealing fates, but I’m happy. Not many of our siblings are even here to say so.”_

_“This is true,” Cas said._

_“But you, Castiel,” Gail said, “you are human.”_

_“Yes.”_

_“And this suits you?”_

_“It does.”_

_Gail smiled again, a little brighter. She pulled a few bills from her pocket and placed them on the table, taking the jar of honey._

_“And that man you were with the first time we met, Dean Winchester, whatever became of him?”_

_“He retired,” Cas said, and then, unable to resist, added, “we live together.”_

_“Good, very good,” she said. “Of course, we never arranged matches for angels. But I had always wanted to make an exception for you. I’m glad fate has led you to each other without my assistance.”_

_Cas considered correcting her, but she had already moved back into the crowd, disappearing as if she still had wings._

\---

When Cas pulled back into their gravel driveway, the sun had already set. After the doctor’s appointment he had gone to the library, then to a café, anything to keep him away from home.

It was a cowardly move, he knew this. But he also knew Dean was probably doing the same thing.

Which was why he was surprised to see the Impala parked out in front already.

Cas unlocked the front door and wondered where Dean was, whether he should avoid him, when heard the soft sound of a Sam Cooke song playing from the kitchen, and the whole house smelled like…

“Cas!” Dean said, standing abruptly from his seat at the kitchen table when he saw Cas through the doorway. He cleared his throat, and rubbed his palms down the front of his jeans. “I didn’t know if you – well, I thought for a minute you might not come home.”

“I thought the same about you,” Cas said, cautiously entering the kitchen.

“Wow,” Dean said. “Some kind of track record we’ve set, huh?” Cas didn’t know what to say. Dean continued, uneasily. “So, we’ve been through a lot.”

“Yes, Dean. We have.”

“And you know I’m no good at talking about, well, pretty much anything that matters.”

“We don’t have to do this, Dean,” Cas said, offering him an out.

“I made you a pie,” he said. He stepped to the side of the table and Cas saw what he’d smelled ever since stepping through the door; a beautiful pie with a lattice crust, steam still rising off the top.

“Dean –”

“It’s blueberry,” he continued, “with goat cheese and basil. I know that sounds weird, but trust me, I think you’re really gonna love it. I used your honey in the crust, obviously, but I also sweetened the blueberry filling with it –”

“You made me a pie?” Cas repeated.

“Like I told you,” Dean said, “when I finally made a pie, it would have to be perfect. Special. So, this one’s for you.”

Cas walked toward the table as Dean picked up a fork, taking a piece directly from the center of the pie and offering the bite to Cas. Cas hesitated for only a second before letting Dean feed it to him.

Cas closed his eyes and swallowed, licking traces of blueberry off his lips. Sam Cooke crooned in the background.

_You know I'll always be your slave  
_ _'Til I'm buried, buried in my grave  
_ _Oh honey, bring it to me  
_ _Bring your sweet loving  
_ _Bring it on home to me_  

“Well?” Dean asked. “What do you think?”

“I think I might need another bite,” Cas said. “To decide.”

Dean smiled, fed him another bite from the fork. Cas watched Dean’s face this time, and Dean watched Cas’ mouth.

“Don’t you want to know what it tastes like?” Cas asked.

“Yes,” Dean said, voice tight.

Cas pressed his lips against Dean’s, slid his tongue into his mouth, and Dean moaned and kissed him back.

The fork clattered to the floor, forgotten.

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/137863088@N05/38082941781/in/photostream/)

\---

“You really will do anything to avoid a conversation, won’t you?” Cas asked, combing his fingers through Dean’s hair. It was getting long at the top.

“Almost anything,” Dean said. “Some things just can’t be expressed properly with words.”

They were back in Cas’ bedroom, under the covers, but sans clothing this time. The dim, twilight sky filtered through the curtains. They lay side by side, neither of them in a hurry to move.

“Besides,” Dean said, “we both know there are better uses for my mouth.”

Cas blushed. Dean’s lips were still swollen and red from their earlier activities.

“You’re a man of many talents, Dean Winchester.”

“Well, someone finally said it.”

They laughed, and Cas pulled Dean in for another kiss.

“As I am a simple man with no comparable talents, would it be alright if I spoke and you listened?”

“Yeah,” Dean said, sobering a bit, “alright.”

“Dean, I am never happier than when I’m with you,” Cas said. “And this is as true now as it was when I first met you. You can be stubborn, self-destructive, even infuriating –”

“Hey!”

“But – let me finish – I can’t think of a single person, entity, or otherwise who has been more important to me than you. I know I can’t protect you like I used to, and I’m hardly useful anymore, but I’d like to try. I’d do anything if it meant I could be by your side for the rest of our lives. That is, if you’ll let me.”

“Shit, Cas,” Dean said. He cleared his throat. “Sounds like you’re fucking proposing.”

Cas did not confirm or deny this. Dean stared.

“Um, what are you saying?”

“I just think you should know that I love you,” Cas said. “I’m in love with you.”

Dean’s lip trembled and he took a deep breath, looking up at the ceiling.

“Oh,” he said.

Dean was quiet after that, but Cas wasn’t expecting a response. He held Dean, stroked his hair, and Dean allowed it. Cas looked down at the strands of silver that were starting to appear by Dean’s temples, the lines at the corners of his eyes, and then Dean looked up at him through dark eyelashes and Cas thought his chest might burst.

“I’m sorry,” Dean whispered.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

“I’m sorry this took us so long,” Dean said. “You’ve gotta understand, I feel the same way, okay? But Cas, you were immortal. I just felt like I could never hold onto you, that I shouldn’t. Then you were human, and I didn’t know how to handle that, either. It was scarier, I think.”

“Why?” Cas asked.

“I dunno. Suddenly I had a dozen new ways I could lose you.”

“You won’t,” Cas said. “We’re in this together, just like always.”

Dean nodded.

Cas held Dean’s face in his hands and kissed him, on the forehead, eyelids, nose, and mouth, across every freckle on his skin. He would keep kissing Dean until Dean believed him, whether it took all night, weeks, months, or an eternity.

\---

Cas was finally able to return to his bees.

It was to his utter joy when the doctor approved it, and Dean’s chagrin. Dean said he understood, but it didn’t stop him from constantly peering out the kitchen window while Cas worked. Cas didn’t mind. It meant he cared.

“I’m sorry I’ve been away,” Cas said to the bees, as his smoker subdued the hive. He couldn’t ask Sam or Dean to maintain it while he was recovering, and he didn’t know any other beekeepers. Perhaps he should look into that. Were there internet forums for local beekeepers? He supposed there must be.

The damage wasn’t as bad as he anticipated. The number of the colony may have decreased slightly, but the hives and frames were still mostly intact. Nothing that couldn’t be fixed in an afternoon.

Later, when Cas stumbled out of his protective gear and into the kitchen, Dean was swinging the Impala’s keys around his finger.

“You up for a ride?” Dean asked.

“Anywhere in particular?”

“You’ll see.”

Cas sighed, but followed him out the front door.

They drove silently except for the radio, Cas trying to discern from their surroundings where they were heading.

“Does this have anything to do with why you were gone yesterday morning?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“Another surprise, Dean?”

“Yeah, I’m full of ‘em these days,” he said, pulling into a parking garage. “I think you’ll like this one, though.”

Cas refrained from mentioning that he liked pretty much anything and everything that had to do with Dean. Cas suspected Dean knew this already. His suspicion was confirmed when Dean threw him a smile and a wink over his shoulder as Cas followed him down the sidewalk of what he now recognized as downtown Louisville. When they turned the corner, Cas saw the sign for a bookstore.

“Oh,” Cas said, stopping to inspect a short shelf that had been placed outside the front window, with a piece of paper taped to it that said ‘$1 Books.’

“That ain’t the surprise, Cas,” Dean said.

“It’s not?”

“No,” Dean chuckled, opening the door to the connecting storefront, “but consider it a bonus.”

Cas frowned as he walked through the door. The building was empty, save for a woman in a blue dress and crop jacket, her heels clicking across the wood floors.

“Dean,” she said, “so great to see you again. And you must be Castiel, wonderful to finally meet you. I’m Holly Nguyen with Boulder County Realty.”

Cas shook her hand and started to put the pieces together. His eyes widened and he looked over at Dean, who gave him a sheepish smile.

“There isn’t room for a commercial kitchen here,” Dean said, “but I could still bake from home. Then we could put in a counter, maybe here? Maybe serve drinks, have a couple tables? And this space over here could display the honey jars.”

Cas looked around the space and could see what Dean was describing. Holly then took him on a more official tour, delighted to hear that Dean had surprised him. It was a charming space, with a mix of wood and brick walls, low ceilings, and big front windows. It also had a separate room in the back down a short set of stairs that could be a seating area.

“You could set up a platform, even. Great for open mic nights and events!” Holly said enthusiastically .

“Events?” Cas repeated, overwhelmed.

“Sure!” she said. “This whole area gets a lot of traffic, with the shops and restaurants, but there’s nothing like what you could offer yet. I have a feeling it could become a real community staple.”

“And we can keep the farmer’s market stand,” Dean said. “But more than one person has asked about a storefront in just the times I’ve been there.”

“Yes, it’s been mentioned. I just never thought...” Cas trailed off, turning to look around the room again before his eyes landed on Dean. Holly looked back and forth between the two of them.

“I’ll let you two talk amongst yourselves, take a look around,” she said. “I’ll just pop outside.”

With Holly gone, Cas took a seat on the stairs that separated the two rooms, and Dean squeezed in beside him, stretching out his left leg, rubbing the bad knee.

“We don’t have to give her an answer now,” Dean said gently. “I thought it was nice that she wanted to show us, though.”

“She approached you?”

“Sure did. What can I say? You’ve become pretty popular, angel.”

Angel. Dean must have called him that a hundred times over the years, but the connotation suddenly felt very different. Cas dared to think of it as a pet name. He leaned into Dean’s side, and Dean slid an arm around his waist.

“Can we afford this?”

“Well, I was able to put away quite a chunk from fixing up that Thunderbird, and for some reason beyond me that guy actually recommended me to some of his buddies with classic cars. I figure if I have the odd, high-paying car job, along with our regular income from the market stand it should be doable. Also, we can fix this place up ourselves; we don’t need to hire anybody.”

“You’ve really thought about this,” Cas said, straightening to make direct eye contact with Dean. Dean smiled, reached out to swipe his thumb across Cas’ chin.

“I think it’s a good idea,” he said. “And I think if you want something, you should have it.”

Cas, unable to help himself, leaned in to kiss Dean. “And you want this?” Cas asked. “The idea is one thing. Putting down roots was never something you imagined, I know that.”

“Cas, listen to me,” Dean said. “We’ve earned this; a little slice of normalcy in this crazy, fucked up world.”

“I know, but –”

“Cas,” he continued, “nothing would make me happier than staying here. With you. For the rest of our damn lives, which against all odds, is a luxury we seem to have.”

“Dean,” Cas whispered, bidding the tears in his eyes not to fall.

“That okay with you?” Dean asked.

“It’s okay with me,” Cas said. “More than okay.”


	10. Epilogue – A Few Months Later

**Louisville, CO  
December 19** ** th **

It was Thursday night at the Heaven on Earth Café, and crowds were slowing down for the first time all day, following the after-work rush. Dean wiped down the counter near their new espresso machine (Cas’ idea) and frowned, straining to hear what was playing over the speakers.

“Who the hell changed our playlist?” Dean called out.

“Who do ya think, Gramps,” Claire said, poking her head in from the back room, phone in hand.

“How long has this crap been on?” Dean asked.

“First of all, it’s not crap, it’s my Feminist Icon playlist,” she said with a huff, “and it’s been playing for three hours; you didn’t even notice. Trust me, I am helping you.”

“I think this girl just sang about being fucked on a bathroom sink,” Dean said, scandalized.

“It’s Halsey.” Claire shrugged, as if that was an explanation.

“We should probably trust her judgement, Dean,” Cas said, joining him behind the counter and putting an arm around his waist. “We have a very hip clientele.”

“I’m hip.” Dean pouted. Cas smiled and pecked him on the cheek in a manner that said _yes, dear_. Claire smirked and stuck her tongue out at Dean.

The café had become the new family business. Sam flew down when they were ready to start renovating and helped fix up the place. There were brand new lighting fixtures, flooring, and they had painted a few walls, but kept the exposed brick. Sam had stayed to help when they opened, but eventually had to hit the road again for a case. Now, Sam had returned and planned to stay through the holidays. Dean celebrated by immediately putting him to work.

“Uh, Claire,” Sam called from the other room, “need your help with the amp in here.”

“Yeah, Claire,” Dean said, returning her smug expression, then also blowing a raspberry for good measure. “And keep that playlist family friendly, for Christ’s sake.”

“I thought you were the one who was supposed to be good at technology,” Claire said to Sam, while she rolled her eyes at Dean.

Claire, on the other hand, had been passing through town after a case of her own. She had taken down a really nasty ghoul – all by herself, she noted proudly. When Cas expressed concern that she was still hunting on her own, she admitted to sometimes teaming up with ‘some guy,’ and that was all they could get out of her before she flipped them off for thinking she might have a boyfriend. However, she was regularly caught smiling at text messages and generally seemed like a happier kid.

With Jody’s blessing, she was spending Christmas with them as well.

It was Dean who’d had the ‘him-and-Cas’ conversation with her when she first arrived.

\---

_“So,” Dean said, sitting her down with one of the café’s muffins, hoping it might distract her, “I have some news.”_

_“Good news or bad news?” she asked, not fooled by the muffin in the least._

_“Good, very good,” Dean said. “And you’d probably figure it out on your own, but I wanted to give you a heads up.”_

_“A heads up about good news?”_

_Dean chewed the side of his cheek, considering the best way to put it. Best to be straightforward. “I am in a relationship –”_

_“—with Cas,” she finished with him._

_“Really?” Dean said. “Was this not a surprise to anyone?”_

_“I dunno, I’ve kind of considered you both to be, like, my gay uncles for a while now, so…” She waved her hand and shrugged her shoulders._

_“Thanks. I think.”_

_“You’re welcome.”_

_“You’re not weirded out at all?” Dean asked. “I wanna be, ya know, sensitive about this.”_

_“Dude, my life is nothing but weird,” Claire said. “I do weird all day. But if you mean about…well, I said goodbye to my dad a long time ago. I know Castiel now. It doesn’t mess with me like it used to.”_

_“Okay,” Dean said. “Okay, good.”_

_“Maybe don’t make out in front of me, though,” she added._

_“Why would we do that?” Dean asked, offended. Claire laughed._

_“You might! You’re probably still in that honeymoon phase. Cas used to make heart-eyes at you even when you weren’t dating, I bet you’re unbearable now.”_

_“Nobody was making any kind of eyes!”_

_“Uh huh, sure,” she said, finally picking at the muffin. “This is delicious.”_

_“You’re damn right it is.”_

_A few moments passed and they both started to laugh; simultaneously in relief and at the absurdity of it all._

_“But seriously,” Claire said, “I’m happy for you guys.”_

\---

The bell on the café door chimed as Phoenix and Jana walked in.

“Hey, girls,” Dean said, going around the counter so he could hug each of them. “I thought you were heading out of town for Christmas?”

“Not ‘til tomorrow,” Jana said.

“I wouldn’t dream of missing karaoke night,” Phoenix said in a sing-song voice. “Maybe I’ll finally get Cas up there with me.”

“Unlikely,” Cas said. “All the songs I know are in Enochian.”

“C’mon, I know that’s a lie,” Dean said. “Need I remind you, Agent Beyoncé?”

“You should do _Single Ladies_ ,” Claire said, bouncing back into the room, Sam at her heels.

“That would be inappropriate, as I am neither single nor a lady,” Cas said.

The girls snickered and Sam said, “As long as we can keep Dean from singing _I Touch Myself,_ I’m good.”

“It’s a great song, Sammy.”

“Too bad it scarred me for life when I was fourteen,” Sam sniped.

“Do I wanna know this story?” Jana asked.

“No,” Phoenix laughed, “you don’t.”

Sam blushed.

The group cleared out to go find their own table in the back as more customers started filtering into the building. Dean promised to fix Jana and Phoenix their regular drinks and bring them over.

When there was a sizeable amount of people standing and seated in the room, Dean got up on the little platform they’d set up in the corner and did his usual introductions, pointing out Claire as the night’s DJ, and to sign up with her to sing.

“I’ll start off the evening with a song, to break the ice,” Dean said, “and then you’ll all feel much better about coming up, because I’m a terrible singer.”

The crowd chuckled, a couple of them cheered. Phoenix shouted, “Liar!” from somewhere in the back.

The first couple bars of Aerosmith’s _Angel_ started playing, and Sam had to put his face in his hands to hide his laughter.

After a couple lines Cas poked his head in from the front, grinning with teeth, eyes crinkling at the corners. Dean winked at him and belted out the chorus.

_Baby_  
_You're my angel_  
_Come and save me tonight_  
_You're my angel  
__Come and make it all right_  

Everyone hooted and hollered at the end of the song, Dean taking a deep bow before jumping off the stage. Claire used the mic to call up the next singer and Dean rejoined Cas at the front of the store. 

“You are ridiculous,” Cas informed him. 

“Don’t be like that, angel.” Dean pulled Cas into his arms, kissing his face until Cas started laughing. The held each other and leaned back against the counter, quieting down as a song finished and they transitioned to the next one. Phoenix was singing _The Chain_. 

“We should go watch her,” Cas said softly. 

“Mhmm,” Dean said, making no effort to move. 

Outside it was starting to snow, the snowflakes only visible in the light of the streetlamps. They watched them fall and pile up on the windowpane. 

“We’ve made a nice little place for ourselves here,” Dean said. “Don’t you think?” 

“I do,” Cas said, leaning his head on Dean’s shoulder. 

“We’ve got friends who aren’t in imminent danger,” Dean said. “We’ve got family; we’ve got an actual home for the holidays.” 

“We’ve got each other,” Cas added. 

“Oh, yeah, I guess that, too,” Dean said. Cas shoved him with his shoulder and Dean snickered. 

“I love you, assbutt,” Cas said, in a way that was somehow both teasing and sincere. Dean could hardly believe he lucked out like this. Cas was so kind, and beautiful, and his, and it all made his chest ache. 

“ _You’re_ the assbutt,” Dean said, pecking him on the lips. “And I love you, too.” 

Cas’ eyes softened the way they always did whenever Dean said this. It was getting easier for Dean to do so every day. 

Smiling, Cas took Dean by the hand and dragged him back to their customers, their friends, and their family. 

Everything in life was theirs to share now, and neither of them had ever been happier. 

END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theeeere you have it folks! I hope you enjoyed and thank you again for reading :)  
> I, uh, maaay have made Claire's Feminist Icon playlist if any of you want to [check it out...](https://open.spotify.com/user/kar_a_sol/playlist/3jhHlZdSCt2A8mYNAKQ1uK)  
> Remember to show ricketyjukeboxer some love on her [art masterpost!](http://ricketyjukeboxer.tumblr.com/post/167013214108/art-for-dcbb-2017-morning-glory-by-edgarallanrose) If you are so inclined and would like to reblog the official masterpost with both links to the fic and the art you can find it right [here.](http://deancasbigbang.tumblr.com/post/167020618805/title-morning-glory-author-edgarallanrose) I would also definitely love for you to just come say hi to me over on [tumblr dot com](http://edgarallanrose.tumblr.com/) :)


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